Seven Brandies
by WadeH
Summary: Elizabeth Bennet has an unexpected and extreme reaction to yet another insulting proposal in Hunsford. It's a nonstop madcap romp through Regency fandom. It started out mostly romantic but accidentally humorous and now has gone kind of over the top with romance, humor and outright farce.
1. The Proposal

_A/N: This story has been complete for some time, and it is the craziest of my stories. I am going through correcting spelling and wording before publication. I will not be making substantial changes._

* * *

 _"In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; … As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. … P &P Chapter 34_

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When he had done, Elizabeth raised her fists in the air, and yelled "Why?, Why?, _Why_?, _Why?_ , **Why me? What have I done? Why do I deserve this?** **Why are you punishing me** **?** "

The last was said with a shout loud enough to shake the roofs of the parsonage.

Darcy gasped in stunned disbelief, colored, stared and started fidgeting.

Elizabeth was staring at the ceiling, shaking her fists at the very heavens, clearly agitated.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had never had the slightest doubt about the acceptance of his offer. In his view of the world, the offer was his to make, and the only doubt to be resolved was whether he was willing to condescend to bring her to his level of society. Once he had made his decision, her acceptance was to be automatic, and even expected, was it not. It never occurred to him that she could decline politely, or decline at all.

Elizabeth was clearly very agitated. He thought about leaving, but that did not seem the gentlemanlike thing to do. Of course, with a reaction like that, maybe getting out of her sight would be the most gentlemanlike thing to do, but he could not be certain. It definitely went against the grain to leave a woman in distress; so he thought perhaps he _should_ reach out to her.

"Miss Bennet, that reaction was … unexpected. Truly, you seem to be in some distress. _Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You seem very ill."_

Elizabeth laughed, nearly uncontrollably, and said, "Wine Mr. Darcy? Wine? **Wine?** " She paused for a moment in thought, then said, "Now that you mention it Mr. Darcy, you have the right idea but, but you are too timid by half. If you would be so kind, go to my cousin's study and bring brandy."

Darcy wondered if she had actually gone barking mad, but was so happy to have her talking as a rational human being, that he jumped up to do her bidding. As he approached the door, Elizabeth added, "Bring the bottle Mr. Darcy."

Well, that sounded more ominous but the directions seemed clear enough, and he was just happy to have something simple to do. As he crossed the threshold of the door, he heard one more thing, "and two glasses."

Darcy returned a few moments later with a decanter full of brandy and the required two glasses. He sat down in the chair across from her with a table between them, and poured out two tumblers of brandy.

Elizabeth picked up her brandy, and said, "Your health, sir?" Then she immediately tossed the entire tumbler back. She sputtered, snorted, turned red and coughed a couple of times but then seem to recover. She looked across at him, and raised an eyebrow in mock challenge. Not one to be intimidated by such a little slip of a girl, he tossed his back as well.

Elizabeth smacked her glass down onto the table, and said, "Again."

Darcy poured again, and the ritual was repeated. Elizabeth said, "Mr. Darcy, sir. I believe you outweigh me by several stone, and have probably had much more extensive instruction in the consumption of brandy, so I believe you should really have one more."

After his third brandy in as many minutes, Darcy was starting to feel fuzzy, and perhaps more talkative than usual. There was still the issue of her earlier appeal to the gods of Valhalla, or whatever it was, and he timidly asked, "Miss Bennet, might you explain your earlier reaction, or do we need more brandy?"

Elizabeth chuckled, although more sadly than anything else. She simply said, "Seven."

Hmm … Maybe the problem was too much brandy rather than not enough, but that was water under the bridge.

"Seven, Miss Bennet?"

"Seven, Mr. Darcy. I have had _seven_ proposals of marriage. I was simply asking Providence why I was being so singled out for punishment."

Darcy was stunned, and blurted out, "Seven proposals of marriage!"

"Yes sir, _seven_."

"And I presume you have declined all of them?"

Elizabeth, starting to feel the effects of the brandy, smirked and said, "Well sir, actually, I have only declined six so far."

Darcy poured another Brandy for each, and with a shared gesture, they picked up the tumblers, clinked glasses, and tossed back another one.

He was afraid of the answer, but asked anyway, "And do you plan to make a clean sweep of it?"

Elizabeth sighed resignedly, and said, "Yes sir, I imagine I probably will."

Darcy screwed up his courage, and before he could stop himself, asked, "Before you do, might I ask how my proposal ranked among the seven?"

Immediately he wanted to bite his tongue, and looked at the brandy as if it were entirely at fault.

The brandy was definitely having some effect on Elizabeth is well. To buy a little time, she poured another tumbler for both, but they both took to sipping rather than gulping. Darcy could not help muttering, "This may be the worst Brandy I have ever tasted."

Elizabeth descended deep into thought but suddenly snapped out of it to remember that he had asked a question.

"Sir, a proper relative ranking would require some criteria for evaluation. Do you wish a ranking based on presentation, sentiment, worthiness, level of insult or perhaps some type of overall ranking?"

Darcy scratched his face in confusion, frowned and asked, "Level of insult? Do you believe that should be a criteria?"

Elizabeth said, "Ideally not, but yes, I imagine that should be ranked since insults seem to be a common element. I am wondering sir; do they teach you at school that it's proper to insult your intended during a proposal? I only ask because it seems to be the fashion these days, but I am not sure where the practice began, or who has been convinced of its efficacy. Are such things usually fruitful?"

Darcy, thinking _this just keeps getting worse and worse_ , asked, "Do you think my proposal could be scored on that scale?"

"In that metric sir, you are around the middle of the pack. You performed somewhat better than both Lord Melbourne and my cousin Mr. Collins, and just a bit worse than Mr. Golding."

Darcy sputtered, "Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins? **Mr. Collins?** He had the temerity to propose to you?"

"Yes sir, he proposed the day after the Netherfield ball. His proposal outdoes yours in level of insult, mostly because his insults were aimed at my personal characteristics, while yours were mostly aimed at my situation and my family. You edged him out in that respect. In fact, he even said outright that with my very small portion, _'I might never receive another offer of marriage'_.

Apparently, he was wrong… again.

"So you found my proposal insulting?"

"Yes sir, you really should have stopped after the first sentence, and vis-à-vis proposals, I think you may want to consider removing the word _reprehensible_ from your vocabulary entirely."

Darcy looking pensive said, "Would you have accepted that? _Had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything_ , would I have prevailed?"

"No sir, but my rejection would have been kinder."

To Darcy, this was both surprising and distressing. To gain a moment to think, he poured some more brandy for both.

"Miss Bennet, upon review of my words, I can see that you are correct and they were most poorly chosen. Oddly enough, in my ignorance, I thought I was helping my suit by being honest about my struggles and trying to give you an idea of the difficulties you might face as my wife."

"Well sir, perhaps you will do better next time. I am certain you will have many opportunities to propose to someone more worthy."

Seeking to distract himself from that line of reasoning, Darcy took another few sips of brandy, and struggling for something to say, he blurted out the first thing that his addled brain spit out, "I suppose you should lump presentation and level of insult together, since they are just two sides of the same coin. May I ask who gave you the best presentation?"

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but apparently, the brandy was more loquacious than he was.

"I would have to say it was Mr. Wickham."

" **Mr. Wickham!** Please tell me you did **not** seriously consider him."

This reaction surprised Elizabeth. Not only was Mr. Darcy shouting, something unheard of, but also he had turned white as a sheet, and seemed ready to run, or start pacing again. This was the most unexpected reaction. Guilt perhaps?

Yes sir, his proposal had everything a proposal should have… except for sincerity and a measurable income of course."

"Thank God. He is the worst sort of scoundrel and rake, and he would have made you miserable. You are correct in assuming that his proposal as well practiced, he has practiced it many times in the past. In fact, the evening we met at the Meryton assembly, I was thoroughly unfit for company. A few weeks prior, he convinced my 15-year-old sister to elope and very nearly succeeded. I was in the blackest of all possible moods."

Elizabeth was startled by this revelation, and asked, "Why would he do that?"

"For her dowry of 30,000 pounds. My father paid for Wickham's education and promised him a living if he took orders. He requested and received 3,000 pounds in lieu of the living, supposedly to study the law. He wasted it all in less than three years. He was after Georgianna purely for mercenary reasons, but also he has an unnatural hatred of me and had he ruined her life, his revenge would have been complete."

Elizabeth took another sip of brandy, before replying, "Mr. Darcy, I hope that your sister is recovering. It must be such an awful experience for her. I am both saddened by her experience, but also quite upset that you were sanguine about leaving _my sisters and me_ to his mercy when you knew his nature. I am only happy he proposed to me instead of Lydia, because she would have accepted it without a second thought. In fact, I would not be overly surprised to find her stalking him as we speak."

Darcy hung his head in shame, but before he could answer Elizabeth took another small sip of brandy, and added quietly, "I am afraid, sir I must also correct the record. We did not meet at the Meryton assembly. You publicly insulted me by saying I was _not handsome enough to tempt you_ at the Meryton assembly, but I hardly consider that a proper introduction. We never spoke until the gathering at Lucas Lodge, when I took you to task for eavesdropping. I am not entirely certain that strictly within the normal rules of propriety we have ever been properly introduced."

Darcy was mortified, and set about to immediately apologize, but Elizabeth would have none of it. "Do not trouble yourself, sir. My vanity has recovered quite some time ago. I am not handsome enough to tempt you, but apparently handsome enough to tempt six other more or less worthy gentlemen, so I have decided to disregard the opinions of you and my mother, which are surprisingly similar. I shall take my opinion about my appearance from Jane and Charlotte."

"Nevertheless, you are correct in every particular. I did not behave as a gentleman should, and I offer you my sincere apologies. You should also know that you are absolutely and uniquely handsome enough to tempt me. In fact, you are the handsomest woman of my acquaintance. I can also see that I have failed in my duty as a leader of men. I should have dealt with Wickham long ago, and it is much to my shame that I abandoned your family to him. I can only hope I might have time to deal with him once and for all. I can promise you Miss Elizabeth, that you have taken me to task appropriately, and I will not let you down."

Trying to leave the issue of Wickham behind, he said, "May I asked Miss Elizabeth, you said your cousin indication that your portion was quite small?"

Elizabeth, looking embarrassed, or perhaps shamed, replied, "Yes sir. My father's estate is entailed away from the female line, and he has five daughters. Mr. Collins is to inherit. My mother is not suited for economy or savings. Upon my father's death, we will have practically nothing. That is the main reason my mother is so obscenely mercenary, she is just frightened. She tried her best to force me to accept Mr. Collins, but my father took my side. My mother's mercenary tendencies are not cruel, she's just afraid. I know that is not much help to those of you who are her chosen prey, but she is my mother."

Darcy took another drink, and asked gently, "What happens when your father dies?"

At this point, Elizabeth was very close to weeping. She said, "Unless at least one of the sisters marries well, very well, Jane and I will have to enter employment, and probably Mary as well. We all had great hopes for Mr. Bingley, but you _know precisely_ how that turned out, do you not? My other sisters will squeeze in with my aunt and uncles. We will survive, but not well… And it will be my fault."

"How could that possibly be your fault?"

"Think about it Mr. Darcy. One of us must marry well, and I have declined six offers so far. Mr. Wickham and two of the other men were obviously unable to materially assist my family, but three of them, including you, could easily give us security for life. However, no matter how important it is for my sisters, and me, I just cannot marry without admiration, respect and deep love. It is simply not in my nature. Jane and I made a pact long ago that we would not marry except for the deepest love, and we fully intend to keep it."

Feeling the weight of his words, Darcy asked quietly, "And was your sister in love with Mr. Bingley?"

"Yes. She still is. However, my family is still as you described. She will recover, and perhaps she will find a more worthy suitor than Mr. Bingley, and she can be our salvation after all."

Darcy poured the last of the brandy into the two tumblers, and raising his glass he said, "He still is as well. This is my fault."

Elizabeth sighed and said, "I know."

Darcy thought a moment, and said, "If I apologize to both Miss Bennet and Bingley, and put them back together, will she accept him back?"

"I do not know, but at least we would be treating them like adults rather than children. It is time to let Mr. Bingley off is leading strings, Mr. Darcy. Much like another man I know, my sister's feelings are not obvious to the casual observer, but I assure you they are there."

"Then, that is what I will do."

Elizabeth's head was spinning in circles now, and all she could manage to say was, "Thank you. I would not have believed you capable of admitting error, but I do thank you on behalf of my sister."

They both finished the last of the brandy and were quite at a loss as what to say next.

Finally, Elizabeth let out a deep breath and said, "Well Mr. Darcy, it is getting very late so I believe it is time for me to answer your question."

Darcy's reaction was instant or as instant as possible for a man who drank _Seven Brandies_ in less than an hour. He jumped across the intervening space, crashed into the side of her chair, knocked over a table, broke a vase, tripped on his own feet, fell flat on his back, then jumped back up and placed his two fingers across her lips, saying, 'Shhhh…. Shhhh…"

Elizabeth, in no fine fettle herself, was stunned. This hated man was much too close; much too big; much too improper; much too aggressive; much too mean; _much too handsome;_ _much too intimate_.

"Miss Bennet. Would you do me the honor of refusing to answer my previous question for one month?"

"Why?"

"Because in one month, I hope you will give me a different answer. _Please Elizabeth; give me a chance to earn your regard._ "

Elizabeth gave a shy little smile and said, "You do realize, at my current rate I will probably have two more proposals in that time?"

"I would ask that you not answer them either, unless of course to decline them."

Perhaps it was the brandy, perhaps it was the stress, perhaps the man had sufficiently explained himself, perhaps the feelings his fingers on her lips produced was too enticing, perhaps she just thought it was time to take a leap of faith; or more likely she was just completely foxed, but no matter. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and said "No Mr. Darcy, I am afraid I must decline to delay my answer. I have had quite enough proposals for one lifetime. My answer is " ** _Yes"_** so now it is too late for you to retract the offer. _Now you are stuck with me."_

* * *

Charlotte Collins, on her return to the parsonage, was quite surprised to hear the sound of snoring coming from her parlor. Had one of the servants fallen asleep? If so, it would not be the first or the last time, and Charlotte was not overly concerned, but she thought she should just check anyway.

Looking in the parlor, she was shocked to smell the entire room reeked of brandy. Her husband would not be happy with that development. She looked around the room for the culprit and was stunned to see lying on his back on her couch, not other than Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley himself, in the flesh. That alone, was quite shocking. However, that did not in any way compare to the absolute surprise that her best friend, Elizabeth Bennet was lying beside him, snuggled into the crook of his arm as if the world had been created with her in that position.

Charlotte smiled, placed a blanket over the happy or at least inebriated couple and went to bed. Tomorrow would be very interesting indeed. She anticipated more than one type of hangover in the morning but was quite convinced all was well. Everything would work out exactly as it should.


	2. Breakfast in Hunsford

_Authors Note: I intended this story to be a one-shot, and I believe the first part can stand alone. However I've had amazingly positive reactions (thank you for all of the reviews and favs), and a lot of requests for more, so I thought I would extend the story. My original story was actually humorous by accident, rather than design. Here I am trying to take up the challenge of writing humor deliberately. I have to warn you that I don't really stick to Regency language very much, and as it turns out, the story is getting more and more absurd by the chapter. Let me know what you think. Wade_

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Elizabeth Bennet was dead. She was most assuredly dead. She was completely, irrevocably, implacably, unassailably, stone-cold dead… She was… wait!… Being dead could not possibly feel this bad!

Elizabeth Bennet was critically injured, gravely impaired, grievously disabled, mortally wounded, life-threateningly damaged, battered, bruised and tormented. She had obviously been mauled by a… bear… that was it… a bear. Now she remembered. Why there was a bear in Kent was quite a mystery, but that was definitely what happened. She could remember it clearly. She was mauled within an inch of her life and dragged into the bear's cave. Yes, she was definitely in a bear's cave, sleeping on the cold hard stone floor.

 _Wait!_ Elizabeth jerked more awake and shivered in fear. _The bear was still there in the cave._ In fact, she seemed to be lying dead, snuggled up next to it. She wondered if she could sneak out without waking it.

She squeaked like a mouse, which made the bear growl menacingly. It was so frightening, she screwed her eyes shut tight, and tried to hold herself completely still, but accidentally let loose a small scream. This made the bear very angry, and it started howling! Wait… bears didn't howl, maybe this was a wolf! Yes, that was it, a wolf. It chased her down, crunched her head with its powerful jaws and drug her back to its lair to eat at his leisure; not realizing that she wasn't _quite_ dead. That was it! She was stuck in a wolf's den. Surprisingly, the wolf started whimpering like a puppy. Oh, that was so adorable! There were wolf cubs in the den with her. She didn't think it was usual for wolves to drag their prey in with their cubs, but maybe things were tough for wolves in Kent. Or maybe _she was the wolf._ Yes, that made sense. She was actually a wolf trapped in a cave with a bear.

Elizabeth made the mistake of opening her eyes to try to see her cubs and was rewarded with a Scottish Drum and Bugle Corp making a full-scale march inside her head… bagpipes and all. Elizabeth Bennet hated bagpipes. This would not do! If only her head would stop pounding or her stomach would stop flipping, or her eyeballs weren't filled with sand, or those damn Scotsmen would stop drumming.

Finally, screwing up all of her courage, she climbed the Bear/Wolf/Pup like an Oak tree, pried her eyes open, and stared directly into the eyes of…

 **"Mr. Darcy!"**

This exclamation, which was probably said louder than strictly necessary since her mouth was a couple inches from his ear, made the Bear/Gentleman scream in pain, which made Elizabeth emit her own scream, which made the cub whimper, which in turn made Elizabeth whimper… This went on in a similar vain for a full hour and a half… at the very least.

Elizabeth recovered first, and decided to apply the full measure of her considerable intellect to the problem."

"Mr. Darcy, you are not a bear?"

Some hours or seconds later…

Mr. Darcy grimaced in pain and replied, "I'm not quite certain, but I believe you may be correct, I'm probably not a bear."

"Or a wolf?"

"That seems unlikely as well."

" _A wolf cub?_ "

"Almost certainly not, everyone knows wolf cubs never sleep on their backs."

By now, both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were finally coming to their senses... more or less.

"I guess this isn't a bear's cave or a wolf's den?"

"I doubt it, but I'm not certain. I would have to guess the parlor at the parsonage."

With that, both came fully to the sense of where they were, and what their situation was. This was shocking!

"Good morning, Elizabeth."

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

"Elizabeth, considering that we are engaged, might you use my Christian name?"

"I'm afraid that would be quite impossible, sir."

"Why?"

Elizabeth giggled, and immediately regretted it, because the damned Scotsmen were back.

"I don't know what it is."

The absurdity of being engaged to someone when you didn't even know their Christian name was not lost on either of them.

"It's Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment and asked, "Are you certain that, in your distress, you aren't confusing yourself with your cousin? We did consume quite a lot of brandy last night."

"I'm reasonably certain I have the right of it. It's a Darcy tradition. The firstborn son is named after the mother's family name. My mother was Lady Catherine's sister."

"I'm glad you clarified that I'm engaged to you, and not your cousin."

There it was! **The Big New Thing! Actually Spoken Aloud!**

Darcy nervously asked, "Do you regret it, Elizabeth?"

"Yes sir, I regret it deeply. I will **never** drink brandy again."

"I mean the engagement, not the brandy."

"Oh!"

Elizabeth thought about it for only a couple of seconds, and then once again climbed the bear like an oak tree, looked him in the eyes, and kissed him. This was not a chaste kiss. It was not a tentative kiss. It was most definitely not an innocent kiss. This was a curl your toes and hold onto your hats kiss, that left no doubt as to the feelings of the participants, irrespective of whether they actually knew their own feelings before it started. This was the first kiss of true love, and it was wonderful in every possible way.

Some hours later, Elizabeth released the poor bear from his torment, and asked, "Does that answer your question, sir?"

Darcy chuckled, and with a small smile said, "I am more sanguine about our engagement, but _still frighted out of my wits—and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me—such spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart_ …"

At this, Elizabeth had to laugh uproariously, which naturally made both of their heads pound abominably in unison, but she just… couldn't… stop.

Elizabeth eventually stopped laughing and became a bit pensive. She was still resting comfortably on his chest, so she gave him a very quick kiss and asked, "How long have you known you loved me?"

"In my heart or my mind?"

"Your heart. Neither of our minds can be trusted."

"Since Netherfield"

Elizabeth became thoughtful and said, "I envy you. I've only known I love you for about five minutes."

 _Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but,_ it was all too new, all too shocking, all too intimidating, all too frightening, _all too wonderful_ to be so vulnerable. Fitzwilliam, for his part, did not feel the need to add to that statement. He just looped his fingers into her hair, which was actually a bit of a mess but he didn't care; and pulled her face down to his shoulder, while he gently caressed her back. This was absolutely, to this point, the best moment of his life.

After a few minutes of just being together peacefully, Fitzwilliam stirred and said, "Five minutes or five months does not signify Elizabeth. Sooner than we might believe, it will be five years and then five decades; and we will still love each other just as ardently."


	3. The Breakfast Angel

_Note, this is a shortish chapter, as that's where the story naturally breaks, but fear not. They'll start getting longer starting with #4._

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Feeling a little feisty, Darcy grinned and said, "It's a good thing we're engaged, as otherwise you would be completely compromised."

Elizabeth giggled and added, "Absolutely"

With their good humor restored, hey fell into an easy alternating banter reminiscent of their days at Netherfield, but without the hard edge they had back then. It was much easier when Elizabeth wasn't as happy to cause him pain as not.

"Thoroughly"… "Utterly"… "Perfectly"… "Indubitably"… "Unconditionally"… "Omnino"… "I know Latin too, Mr. Showoff"

That brought a laugh from the bear.

"In every way"

Elizabeth paused, smiled and said, "Not just yet, but it shan't be long I imagine."

That brought the return of the bear with another laugh, and the Scotsmen weren't even particularly active for the moment.

A little more seriously, Elizabeth said, "I don't think I can call you Fitzwilliam. Do you have some other name you use?"

"Why ever not?"

"Because when I think of my husband, I don't want to think about his cousin."

Once again pensive Darcy asked, "And are you comfortable thinking of me as you husband Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth could see he still had a bit of vulnerability after the events of the previous evening; not to mention he was obviously still in some pain from the brandy, as was she.

She answered softly and carefully, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I believe I've learned two important things about us. Firstly, I think we complement each other very well. We're different enough in many ways that I think each of us brings a strength the other lacks. Secondly, I think we're similar in one important way. With respect to each other, we're both all-or-nothing. We have been almost from the first moment, although neither of us realized it. The only way to stop hating you was to start loving you, and make no mistake Fitzwilliam Darcy; _I do love you with all my heart._ "

Darcy could not think of any answer to that, except for the tenderest of kisses.

Right at that moment, they were interrupted by an angel. This was not a Charles Bingley style angel, as the only requirement for that was great beauty, which neither of them was in any great need of. No, this was the best of angels. This was the ideal angel. This was the archetypal angel. This was the paragon of all angles. This was the angel against which all others would be measured. This was Charlotte Collins, and she had, **_"_** ** _COFFEE_** ** _!"_**

She also had scones and blueberries and cream and bacon and eggs and tea and sugar and biscuits and honey and… Suffice it to say there were at least two extremely happy people in the room, maybe even three. It was too early to tell about Charlotte. Elizabeth suspected she would at the very least be happy to say, "I told you so!"… with or without sticking out her tongue… Were married women allowed to do that?

Charlotte smiled and brought the tray over. The Bear and the Wolf reappeared and fell to the meal ravenously, greedily, rapaciously, ferociously, insatiably… it was a sight to behold, although truth be told, maybe a bit embarrassing.

When they at last slowed down, they were enjoying their third cup of coffee and the very last of the marmalade. Thus contented, and with the retreat of the damn Scottish Bagpipe and Drum Corps, Charlotte asked quite sweetly and innocently, " _Lizzy, did you have something to tell me?_ "

Looking contrite, Elizabeth said, "We drank all your husband's brandy."

"And?"

"We knocked over your table."

" _And_?"

"We broke your vase."

"Good riddance. Lady Catherine picked it. Thoroughly hideous."

"Agreed."

"And?"

"We got mud on your couch?"

" **And**?"

"I think I lost some hairpins in the couch… or on the floor… or maybe they're under the table?"

" **And**?"

"My valet is probably worried about me. Maybe even my aunt. Hmmm… I wonder if Anne missed me at breakfast."

" **And**?"

"I believe I may have tracked some mud on the floor, as I didn't clean my boots very well last night."

" **And**?"

"I may have neglected to tell Colonel Fitzwilliam where I went last night."

" **And**?"

"I think the pig may have gotten out of the garden."

" **And**?"

"This blanket is a bit of a mess. I blame the gentleman's boots."

" **AND**?"

"I may have missed breakfast at Rosings, and quite forgot to tuck Colonel Fitzwilliam in."

" ** _AAAANNNNND_**?"

"Let's see, what are we missing?... Brandy… Table… Vase…. Valet… Boots… Cousin… Pig… Mud… Blanket… I think that about covers it. Oh, Wait! _Now I remember._ **We are engaged** **!** "


	4. The Other Angel

There are two common types of angels, the nurturing/supporting type and the avenging type. Charlotte Collins, having discharged her duty as the former prepared to perform the office of the latter. She very well remembered Lizzy dragging her around to all the visits in Meryton during her engagement period. Lizzy, once she overcame the shock of her engagement took it upon herself to enjoy the whole experience by pushing the mothers for more and more visits mercilessly. A few words suggesting that the lace on Charlotte's wedding gown might be insufficient for her needs, could subject her friend to hours of preparation, discussion and vexation; and hours of other miscellaneous effusions from the matrons of Meryton. Now, it was time for revenge.

"Lizzy, I'm sure your _mother_ will be most thrilled with this auspicious engagement. I can hear her in my mind now; and she started doing a pitch-perfect impersonation of Mrs. Bennet, ' _Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! I am so pleased-so happy. Such a charming man!-so handsome! so tall!-Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing that is charming! One daughters very well married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted.',_ at which point she made a great site, putting the back of her hand against her for head, and collapsed into the chair.

The bear, unfortunately, was drinking coffee at the time, which made him promptly snort it out his nose, which, all things considered, was not the optimal strategy. In truth, that method of disposal had very little to recommend it. The ladies of the house laughed uproariously until Charlotte silenced Lizzy with, "Yes, yes, Lizzy. You shall have to tell your mother immediately. Perhaps you would like my husband to write to your father, Since he is your nearest male relative here in Kent."

All merriment went out of the couple, who started at each other in mortification. They paused a moment, and then at the same time started babbling incoherently, words running over each other."

"I'll have to tell my mother."… "I'll have to tell Aunt Catherine."… "You'll have to ask my father permission!"… "I'll have to tell the colonel."… "I'll have to tell my Aunt Phillips."… "Who is she?"… "Mother's sister. Busybody. Gossip."… "I'll have to tell my uncle Thomas."… "Who's he?"… "Father's brother. Earl of Matlock. Busybody. Gossip."… "Mr. Collins."… "Aunt Isabelle."… "Aunt and Uncle Gardiner."…. "Who are they?"… "Mother's brother and wife… She's from Lambton you know! My favorite people in the world besides Jane!"… "Georgiana."… "Who's that?"… "My sister… favorite person in the world!"… "Lady Lucas"… "Lord Melbourn"… "My silly sisters"… "Never can remember which is which."… "The ones that chase all the officers"… "Still not specific enough"… "No matter, they must be told."… "Agreed"… "Mrs. Hill"… "Mrs. Reynolds"… "My sisters will want to be bridesmaids"… "My aunt will try to stop us"… "My father may die from the exertions… no wait, he'll just ignore us."… "Probably for the best"… "The Bingley sisters will probably die of dismay."… "Probably for the best."…

Charlotte was quite enjoying the look of absolute panic on the faces of the formerly happy and now quite spooked couple. Her revenge was nearly complete… nearly, but not quite.

"Eliza, your mother will be most thrilled to help you purchase your trousseau and plan the wedding."

She was delighted to see this start yet another round of panicked babbling, "Trousseau"… "Wedding breakfast"… "Church"… "Invitations"… "Making Calls"… "Visiting the gentry"… "Explaining to Charles and Jane"… "Breaking the news to Anne"… "Special License"… "New carriage"… "Modistes"… "Tailors"… "Haberdashers"… "Vintners"… "Parsons"… "Archbishop"… "Smelling salts"… "Aunt's advice"… "Eeeek! Mother's advice"… "Making more calls"… "Redecorating"… "Blacksmiths"… "Balls"… "Engagement feasts"… "Dancing"… "Sulking, you mean"… "I do _not_ sulk"… "Do so"… "Do not…at least not that I have you to dance with"… "Wedding rings"… "Wedding coats"… "Bridesmaids dresses"… "Groomsmen's… well, actually they're too lazy to dress up."… "Unfair"… "Definitely"… "Indubitably"… "Covered that already"… "Right"… "Special Wedding Night Gown"…

That stopped the babbling momentarily, until the Bear said, "Let's revisit that one."… "Agreed", and they were off again.

It was actually quite diverting watching the two. They were both sitting side by side on the couch, in mirrored _thinker positions_ , with his left and her right hand fisted under their respective chins. Their facial expressions were a wonder to see, as they want from joy to dismay, to outright panic. It was many years since Charlotte had been so were babbling faster and faster, sometimes talking over each other, sometimes answering a question long after the other had moved on.

This went on for a good five minutes, with each of the participants being most delightfully vexed until they both abruptly stopped talking at once, mid-sentence or even mid-word. They looked at each other, smiled, and shouted at exactly the same time, **"SCOTLAND"**.

Turns out the damned Scotsmen were good for something after all.

Charlotte lost all traces of amusement, and said, "You cannot be serious! **An elopement?** Think of the scandal! This is impossible, unsupportable, unredeemable, and in every way terrible!"

However, it was too late. The die was cast. The cat was out of the bag. The damage had been done. The bell could not be un-rung. The bear and his consort were babbling again.

"No father"… "No Aunt Catherine"… "No Mrs. Bennet"… "No Colonel Fitzwilliam"… "We might need him for best man"… "Forgot that. Probably no time for Bingley"… "Bring him without Jane and you'll be marrying him"… "Good point"… "No Trousseau"… "No contracts"… "You will keep my mother from the hedgerows?"… "Of course, we'll find a hedgerow-free-county – far from Derbyshire"… "Very far"… "No wedding breakfast"… "No silly relatives in attendance"… "No Peers in attendance"… "I just said that"… "Good point"… "No nerves, no fluttering, no spasms"… "I already mentioned no Aunt Catherine"… " I meant my mother but really, they could just as well be sisters"… "Now that you mention it, do you think your mother would like to move to Kent?"… "We could be married by Friday!"… "Wednesday"… "Tuesday"… "Leave tomorrow"... "Leave Tonight"… " **Leave Now**!"

With that, they paused and Charlotte was happy to see sanity returned.

Darcy said, "three hours?"

"That will do nicely."

Now they had a plan, and commenced a flurry of negotiations.

"I'll take care of the carriage, the route and the best man."

Both looked intensely at Charlotte, and Lizzy gave her the best puppy dog look of entreaty.

"No, No, No, No, _No_ , _No_ , _No_ , No, No, _No_ _,_ _No_ _,_ _ **No!**_ Lizzy Bennet! I am  not going to Scotland with you. I would need a new living for my husband if I did that."

Darcy looked sheepish and said, "You probably will anyway, but fear not. I will take care of you."

"I will hold you to that Mr. Darcy, and I appreciate it, but nonetheless I cannot go to Scotland with you."

"I understand Mrs. Collins and applaud your good sense."

"But you plan to abandon good sense yourselves?"

Lizzy giggled just like Lydia and said, "Of course." She then looked at the ceiling for a few minutes, blew out a deep breath and said, "There's nothing for it. It will have to be Miss de Bourgh."

Charlotte was shocked at the audacity of the suggestion and said, "You can't be serious?"

Happy and excited again, Darcy said, "Yes! Capital! I'll bathe, change, get the carriage, best man, maid of honor, trunks, valet, maid, money, engagement ring and wedding ring and be back in three hours."

"And where will you obtain these rings you mentioned, sir?"

Darcy, looking either chagrined or like the cat who ate the canary, reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked suspiciously like a jewelry box.

"In the excitement I nearly forgot. This was my mother's. In my arrogance, I always assumed you would accept me and planned accordingly."

"I see. And you have the wedding ring as well?"

"I don't do half measures, Elizabeth."

He slid the ring on her finger, sank down on one knee and said, "Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the great honor of eloping to Scotland with me for a scandalous wedding, and a happy future as Mrs. Darcy."

Now it was her turn to have a look of heartfelt delight, and she replied, "Baby Bear, I happily accept. I must also point out that this was far and above the best of the eight."

Charlotte and Darcy both spoke at the same time, "Baby Bear?"… "Eight?"

Elizabeth laughed, "Yes Charlotte, last night I had my seventh proposal. This would be my eighth, although since I accepted the seventh I'm not sure this one should really count. It was certainly the best of the lot though. Do continue practicing, sir."

"And as for you, Mr. Baby Bear, you will have to give me a better name. I told you I cannot call you Fitzwilliam. Can I not use one of the names your other close family uses?"

"I hardly think 'Brother' or 'Cuz' will suit."… "I see your point. William maybe?"… "That will do for the moment."

Charlotte had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, and said "If you're going to elope, I imagine you'd better get on with it!"

Fitzwilliam jumped out of his stupor and said, "I'll depart for Rosings immediately, and be back in three hours."

Elizabeth said, "And I will write the letters."

"Which letters?"

"All of the letters."

"All of the letters?"

"Yes. All of the letters?"

"So you are saying, you don't mean _most of the letters_. You mean _all of the letters_? You realize who is included in that?"

"Yes sir, I do."

Fitzwilliam, so happy to be avoiding writing to his relatives, had to laugh, and said, _"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the day. Letters of elopement, too! How odious I should think them!"_

With a laugh, Elizabeth said, _"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."_

That settled, the happy couple was ready to go about their business immediately. Most excitedly, Fitzwilliam jumped up, and rushed out of the parlor yelling, "My horse! **My horse**!"

Unfortunately, he was not quite as recovered from the brandy as he thought, and he ran headlong into the door, bounced off, fell flat on his back, jumped back up, opened the door, and ran out still screaming for his horse.

Charlotte looked on in some amusement, and was surprised when but a moment later he rushed back into the door, ran over and gave Elizabeth a substantial kiss. This was nowhere nearly as shocking as when Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley also gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek; before rushing headlong out the door once again.

Elizabeth almost skipped over to the writing desk. There was much to be done, so with a happy heart, she gathered paper and ink; and set about the task of mending her pen.


	5. Mending Her Pen

_Some good questions from the reviews, so I'll take a crack at them._

 _This is a very funny story, but I have a question: how did Mrs. Bennet react because her daughter refused six contenders?_

To be honest, I never really thought about it. I thought of the story and wrote it all one morning, and didn't work through all the details. Now that you ask, and the story has taken on a life of its own, guess I'll have to figure it out. I think there are two answers. First, Mrs. Bennet only knew about Mr. Collins, which follows canon. She may or may not have known about Wickham, and she may or may not have freaked out about him. If she did know about him, you could presume she would freak out, mostly the opposite of what she did for Lydia I canon, so whether she knew or didn't know, you will have to wait to learn, because I have to figure it out first. There is also some funny arithmetic about the seven that Darcy is going to ask to clarify sooner or later, so you haven't heard the last of the seven; although when I wrote it, I had no intention of even making sure the whole story was logically consistent.

 _As far as Wickham was concerned, it was quite surprising? How do you explain that? Unless he had guessed Mr. Darcy's interest in Elizabeth._

No explanation. I just needed someone to make the best proposal, and he fit the bill. Didn't give it any more thought. The whole timeline for the seven is suspect. In my first draft, it was seven since the Netherfield Ball, but I removed that phrase because I wanted some room to maneuver.

 _Has she changed her mind about him?_

Yes, he explained that during the proposal, but she hasn't really had time to process it yet. Don't fear, I doubt you've heard the last of Mr. Wickham.

 _And it would seem that she no longer has very good opinion of Mr. Bingley, in which she would be right. A man who lets himself manipulate like a puppet is not worth much. Jane deserves better than he, it's obvious._

 _Yeah, I can hardly resist dumping on the hapless Mr. Bingley. I do it in all my stories so far, so maybe some day I'll have to figure out a way to make him less of a whining pup, but haven't figured out how to do that just yet. I haven't even figured out if I'm going to let Jane accept him yet. You'll know about as soon as I know._

 _It is to be expected that Wickham will react by learning Darcy's engagement to the one who refused it. But he could try to attack one of the younger sisters and Lydia is the ideal prey. Hopefully Darcy will get rid of him before the announcement becomes official._

Not done with either Wickham or Lydia, so stay tuned.

 _I'm enjoying Lizzy and Darcy's engagement. But, where is Mr. Collins, he must make an appearance and have his share in the conversation._

Fear not, Mr. Collins will be back in Chapter 7 or 8, depending on how the story flows. After all, he must have his share of the conversation.

 _The addition of Lady Catherine, Mr Collins, and perhaps Anne de Bourgh to this duet will be interesting..._

Expect them all, starting in chapter 7; although they both get a shout-out in this chapter, so without further ado…

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Mr. Thomas Bennet  
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Papa,

I well know how you detest correspondence, so I shall be brief. I have some interesting news from Kent, but I believe I may safely defer the office of your enlightenment to my mother, to whom I have also written. Feel free to take a glass of port and remain comfortably in your library, as you will be perfectly able to hear the news from there. I dare say you should be able to hear it nearly anywhere short of Netherfield or Oakham Mount. Enjoy your port and solitude.

Your Loving Daughter,  
Elizabeth Bennet

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Mrs. Fanny Bennet  
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Mama,

All is well here in Kent. We have dined at Rosings nine times, and Lady Catherine has shown us all of the condescension of elevated rank that my cousin alluded to. See his letter of 15 October for more detail. As promised, Rosings is a very grand estate that you would like very much. In fact, I would suggest you attend Lady Catherine for a visit, as I am sure she would be quite happy to advise you, as she is a very attentive neighbor and she has given Charlotte much advice on all and sundry topics. As promised Rosings is by no means deficient in windows, fireplaces or chimneys. Lady Catherine graciously suggested shelves in the closet of my bedchamber, which works as well as you might expect. She has also been instrumental in the creation of a staircase in the parsonage ideally suited to a clergyman of our cousin's rank; being neither too shallow nor too steep. In fact, Sir William said, "It's as fine a staircase as I've ever seen, sir." Lady Catherine is quite happy to make numerous suggestions regarding Mr. Collin's garden, which have been extremely helpful; as well as many instructions on how Charlotte may run her household. Charlotte has twelve chickens, eight of which are excellent layers so her supply of eggs is sufficient for her needs. She also has five new chicks to add to the flock, and the local pond has six ducks, three geese and dozens of frogs in residence. I am leaving in two hours time to Scotland, and will be married to Mr. Darcy over the anvil on Tuesday next. Charlotte has quite a feisty pig who likes to get into the garden. I believe he is a Berkshire, but now that I think of it, I'm not even certain whether he is a boar or sow, so I must ask Charlotte. Mr. Collins has two apple trees, one pear and two peach. I believe the apple and pear trees will be ready slightly sooner than in Hertfordshire, due to the warmer climate. The woods here in Rosings are quite lovely though the formal gardens are a touch artificial for my tastes. They even have a folly… Quite why, no one knows, but there you have it… a folly. I went there to read on Tuesday last. I enjoyed Shakespeare's sonnets IV through XIV. Mariah has been quite shy and silent in company. Sir William was similarly grave, although he was lively enough around our cousin. I met a Colonel Fitzwilliam, in the regulars who wears a quite dashing red coat. Lady Catherine has a barouche-box carriage, which is quite ostentatious. She has a rather sickly daughter named Anne who gets around in a phaeton and ponies. The pony is white, with a black band on its forehead and white socks. I've never actually talked to Miss De Bourgh but she seems nice enough, which is convenient, as she and the colonel will stand up with us in Scotland. My cousin's sermon last week covered the duties of the lower ranks toward the upper in some detail. Lady Catherine approved of it personally. I have recommended to him that he actually read the Bible but he scoffed at the suggestion. My engagement and wedding rings have diamonds and rubies, and belonged to Mr. Darcy's mother. I broke a vase in Charlotte's parlor, but it was quite hideous so she is not concerned. Mariah will return on Friday next as planned. Charlotte is preparing tea and I have other letters to write, so I will close now.

Your Devoted Daughter  
Elizabeth Bennet (for the moment)

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Miss Jane Bennet  
34 Gracechurch Street, Cheapside

Dear Jane,

I was right. I was right. I was right. I was right. I was right. I'll just take my on chance to say that before admitting how wrong I was in other matters. Mr. Bingley loves you! He always has; but was convinced you did not share his affections by his pernicious sisters and Mr. Darcy. I am not that all that impressed with his steadfastness, but that defect could be corrected by the right wife. It turns out Charlotte was also right, as you did not show him enough affection for him to overcome his uncertainty. Soooo… my dear sister, when you are in company with him, Tell Him! or better yet Show Him! (or both). Also being unimpressed with the conduct of the sisters and Mr. Darcy goes without saying, but we may deal with them at our leisure. My one it's okay

Being somewhat presumptuous, I have taken the liberty of telling Mr. Bingley to call on you at his earliest convenience. I expect him to arrive within the hour, so compose yourself accordingly. If you should wish him back, I suggest between an hour and a week of groveling should suffice. If not, let the poor man out of his misery once and for all.

Your Loving Sister  
Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. If you find you wish to be wed quickly with a minimum of fuss, take yourself to Gretna Green, and you can get married over the anvil, no-muss no-fuss. Should you elect to do that, you should be able to arrive there by Thursday or Friday next. If that is your desire, I'll be happy to stand up with you as your matron of honor. Note the key word "matron". It is appropriate because I am dealing with Mr. Darcy's officious interference by traveling with him to Scotland. By Tuesday, next we will be married, so I will be able to perform the office adequately.

P.P.S. If you should decide to take up brandy, moderation is recommended.

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Miss Lydia Bennett  
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Lydia,

I am writing to you because you are the only sister who is to be trusted, and I have news of such great import that I must share it with somebody. Please, swear on all that you hold dear that you will take the secret to your grave with you. Under no conditions should these things be revealed to anybody in Meryton, and more specifically it should not be revealed to our mother or Mrs. Phillips.

I happen to learn the story from a very reliable man wearing the Red Coat of his Majesty's regulars. In fact, he's a Colonel, and looks every bit as dashing as he would in your dreams. The **Colonel** tells us that  Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted. Not only that, the story of his infamy is so scandalous that it could not possibly be shared amongst the ordinary population. In fact, I pray you burn this letter as soon as you read it. Better yet, burn it now and read no more, but I must write it to purge my soul of all that I know.

Mr. Wickham was denied the living in Derbyshire, _because he practices unnatural rituals._ I'm afraid the gentleman who enlightened me was unwilling to give me any salient details of this ritual, save that it involved dressing in women's clothing, and having congress? (I don't actually know what that means) with a goat. This can only be done during the full of the moon. It requires very expensive accoutrements, so its practitioners are continually running up debts with tradesmen, and dallying with unmarried (or even married) women to build up their (the officer told me a word, but I cannot repeat it). They basically suck out part of the soul of their victims, and everyone who has ever been intimate with them becomes completely incoherent and ridiculous. They consume massive amounts of alcohol, because they practice some type of ritual involving a knife and certain parts of their anatomy which is quite painful, and renders them quite incapable of the normal duties that would be expected of a husband. His sect never marries, never fathers children, and most importantly never saves a farthing because every bit of income is spent on their obsession. They chase after ladies mostly to get their money, all of which goes into the ₭₵⅝₥℮ԜԳճ. The rituals are so horrific, the Colonel wept while describing only a small portion of it.

So make no mistake, this is a dangerous man, and you must be absolutely certain, that not a hint of this scandal should escape your lips. No one in Meryton must know of his unnatural habits, as it is almost certainly likely to cause a great scandal for some of the other families in the neighborhood. We have course will be exempt, but you must do your duty and keep the secret to the grave.

Thank you so much for allowing me to unburden myself, and I fully trust in your discretion.

Your trusting sister,  
Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. You also should refrain from telling anybody that Mr. Darcy and I are eloping to Gretna Green to be married on Tuesday next.

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Colonel Forster  
_Shire Militia, Derbyshire

Colonel Forster

I must congratulate you sir on your singular ability to rehabilitate the hardened criminals of our society. As you probably know, I oversee the transportation of convicts to Australia. One of your officers was duly convicted of fraud, debts, gambling, and unnatural acts unbecoming of an officer. He was on a transport ship to Australia, and was apparently freed and returned to your company by his criminal conspirators. I must assume sir, that you have a sterling discipline, and are willing to take any type of troublemaker into your midst, because you feel that you can handle them. Bravo sir! I realize your chances of success with this endeavor are quite low, but I applaud your spirit, and your willingness to be held responsible for the actions of the reprobates you have saved from their actions. It speaks very well of you, sir, to be of such stern character, and so generous with your personal reputation.

Your servant,  
General Maximilian Schmaximilian

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Mr. Charles Bingley  
60 Grosvenor Square, London

Dear Mr. Bingley,

 _Be not alarmed, sir, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing_ anything that will pain you overly much, or that receipt of said will harm either of our reputations materially. Since I am eloping to Scotland with Mr. Darcy in an hour, my reputation is quite suspect already, and since I will be Mrs. Darcy on Tuesday next, I believe I shall have no need to repine. However, before I leave, I thought I might disabuse you of some misinformation you may have.

There are two material facts you should be aware of. Firstly, Jane Bennet loves you! At least she did before you spinelessly abandoned her. She probably still does, so if you were to call on her at your earliest convenience at 34 Gracechurch Street in Cheapside, and engage in sufficient groveling, you may yet be given the opportunity rebuild your character within the bonds of matrimony. Give yourself over to her care sir. She is what you need to be complete. She has backbone to spare, and will gladly lend you some.

I also recommend you engage more reliable advisors in future at least in matters of the heart. I personally recommend the eldest Bennet sisters. You had the worst three advisors in England.

Now Go. Go. Go.

Your Devoted Friend (and maybe sister)  
Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. Why are you reading this postscript? You should be on your horse by now.

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Miss Caroline Bingley  
60 Grosvenor Square, London

Dear Miss Bingley,

Ever since your kind treatment of my sister and myself when we visited you in Netherfield, I have striven to repay the favor. Your treatment of both of us was kindness itself. You did not sting in advising us in proper fashions, proper manners and their proper ways to behave within the first societies, and for that service I very much thank you. Since then, I have hoped that I would find a way to repay your kindness, and I believe I now have a way to do so.

I have been made aware that you wish to have closer associations with the first circles of society, and I am more than happy to report that you will very soon be able to do so through the bonds of marriage. I believe you will find this situation entirely or to your satisfaction, and the connection is actually quite close. Your brother is to marry my sister, so you will then have a first-level connection to Jane Bingley. Jane is quite obviously my sister, so that gives you a second-level connection to myself. Naturally since I'll be marrying Mr. Darcy next Tuesday, which will give you a third-level connection directly to the first circles of society. This is practically the same as being a peer, so I congratulate you on your accomplishments. Welcome to the fringes of the first circle.

Your Benevolent Friend  
Elizabeth Bennet

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Miss Georgianna Darcy  
Darcy House, London

Dear Miss Darcy,

Please pardon my impertinence with writing to you directly, but I have been tasked with writing all of the letters for my upcoming elopement with your brother to Scotland in one hours time, so we do not have time for the normal introductions. Oh drat! Pardon my language. I would cross out that last sentence, but I cannot stand crossed out letters and I don't have time to redo it, what with your brother coming in one hours time so that we can elope to Scotland. Drat! I did it again. Let me just start anew.

Dear Miss Darcy,

Your brother and I are leaving for Gretna Green in one hours time, and we will be married over the anvil next Tuesday. There! That's so much better. If I have time, I will rewrite the letter from the beginning, but otherwise forgive my untidiness.

Forgive my confusion, but you do actually only have one brother, correct? Just in case there is any possible ambiguity, I am actually marrying your brother Baby Bear...er... Fitzwilliam. He has informed me of the appalling deficiency of your upbringing, more specifically your lack of adequate sisterage. As your soon-to-be next to eldest sister, I feel it incumbent upon me to redress this particular problem which we will accomplish forthwith, and in return I would ask a very small favor of you.

Since it will take some weeks for us to return from Scotland, I would like to suggest you take your companion and retire to Longbourn, in Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley will happily escort you there, or perhaps you may ask your uncle busybody Matlock for assistance. Once you are there, simply announce yourself to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill; and tell her that you are to be the latest Bennet sister. She should give you my old room, and you are to make yourself comfortable. Once there, I would like you to become best friends with my sister Mary, and since I am told you're very proficient, perhaps you could teach her to play the pianoforte in a way that does not make one's ears bleed. She's a very dear child, but since she was raised with wolves, she is never really mastered the instrument. However, I'm sure with your assistance, she will be set right in no time.

Since you will be so engaged with my sister Mary, if your companion (I'm afraid I don't know her name) has the time, perhaps she could make my two younger sisters somewhat less accutely embarrassing. Actually, now that I think about it, one companion will be nowhere sufficient for that task. Please ask your companion to engage two more, and take them with you. You may consider this request authorized by both your brother and the colonel. Most especially, you are not to listen to a single word said by either of my two youngest sisters (well, actually, they will be your youngest sisters by then). Their names are Lydia and Kitty, just in case you have trouble separating them from the rest of the rabble of the house.

Should you have any questions, please feel free to direct them to my sister Jane, who you will either find at 34 Grace Church St. fending off Mr. Bingley with an ax, or at Longbourn request in my father's permission for marriage, or possibly on the same road to Gretna Green that I'm on. If the first or second condition applies, she will be happy to assist you in fitting in with your new sisters. If Jane is already on the way to Scotland, you may wish to join her, and although traditional; I believe you may come without a betrothed and you will still be welcome.

Of course, under no conditions should you pay the slightest attention to either of my parents, but you need not worry – with five daughters, they are unlikely to even notice you.

We hope to meet you properly in a fortnight or two.

Your Newest Sister  
Elizabeth Bennet

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Lady Catherine de Bourgh  
Rosings, Kent

Dear Lady Catherine,

My lady, as I had to leave unexpectedly, please allow me the opportunity to use this letter to thank you again and again for the kindness and condescension you have shown towards myself, all members of this household, and all members of the lower classes of Kent for that matter. For as my cousin rightly points out, it is the duty of those of elevated rank and privilege to assist the lower born through all manner of kindness, generosity and condescension. More specifically, your excellent advice to practice has been most particularly gratefully received and I have followed your instructions resolutely. More specifically, I have been practicing in dealing with unwanted suitors for some time now, and all were rejected in a similar manner. However, with the benefit of more practice, on the seventh proposal, I believe like I finally managed to perform the ceremony adequately; and I believe the eighth was nearly perfect. So on that account, I must offer my most sincere gratitude that you could condescend to advise one such as I with such good advice despite my impertinence and lack of fortune or connections.

I believe I should also thank you on behalf of another who I know has profited by your excellent advice, kindly proffered. I believe my seventh and eighth suitor (do not be alarmed, they are one and the same) might have never managed to come to the point if left to his own devices. However, upon receiving your excellent advice that it was time for him to finally marry, produce an heir, etc&, he finally worked up his courage to perform the appointed task.

So Lady Catherine, again I must thank you for your advice, although I must apologize because the press of important business and a short schedule prevented me from delivering my thanks in person. Your nephew and I are as we speak on our way to Scotland, to be married over the anvil on Tuesday next, and we have you to thank. Your attentions have been most efficacious, and we thank you for your excellent diligence.

Your Devoted Servant  
Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. I may have omitted a small detail. I will be marrying your nephew Mr. Darcy. Your other nephew is along to stand up for him, and I believe your daughter is to stand up for me, another thing we have you to thank for. Your family's generosity knows no bounds.

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

The Right Honorable Rev. William Collins  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

My Dear Cousin,

I must trouble you sir to accept my most humble gratitude for the hospitality of your fine home, as well as your excessive generosity in sharing the blessings and condescension of your gracious patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It is through her kindness, and generosity of spirit that she has offered to advise all within her exalted sphere, and I am humbled and honored to be thus included, for her advice has been of inestimable value to your humble cousin.

I must apologize for not offering my addresses in person, but an urgent engagement as required my presence elsewhere. Note that I mean "engagement" in the literal sense, not figurative. I am engaged to Mr. Darcy, and we are currently on our way to Scotland to be married over the anvil on Tuesday next.

I of course must thank you again and again, as you and Lady Catherine have done all that could be done to bring about this happy event. I recommend you go to Rosings immediately, to congratulate Lady Catherine on the success of her brilliant design.

You may also wish to condole with her on the absence of her daughter for the next fortnight. Miss de Bourgh has graciously agreed to a company us to Scotland, to act as my maid of honor, in which she will perform as the most exalted crown jewel of the entire blacksmith shop.

Once again my dear cousin, thank you for your hospitality and your assistance.

Yours Etc&  
Elizabeth Bennet

* * *

Fri 10 April, 1812  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Mrs. Charlotte Collins  
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Dear Charlotte,

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, **please** come to Scotland with me! I'm sure Miss de Bourgh is quite wonderful, but I really would prefer you. I have no idea why I am writing this letter to you, since you're standing right behind me looking over my shoulder, but maybe this will work. If this does not, I will move on to groveling.

Beggingly Yours,  
Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. My betrothal will be here in less than an hour, and I smell like your pig after he gets into your husbands brandy (actually, I think that particular danger has been alleviated for the moment). I really need a bath! Immediately!


	6. In His Majesty's Snoozing Service

_A/N: Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews and favs. This story just crossed 100 reviews for the first time which is soooo exciting I'm giddy._

 _Now I need to ask for a little help on direction of the story. I've been gradually tending more towards absurdity and farce, and want to know when I step over the line. Please let me know what you think of this chapter, either by review or PM. This chapter is setup for a big **road trip** , and another maybe 7-20 chapters up to novella length._

 _Once again, my ego thanks you for all the favs and reviews. ;) Wade  
_

* * *

Aloysius Bamber Cornelius Dudley Erasmus Fitzwilliam IV was dead. He was most assuredly dead. He was completely, irrevocably, implacably, unassailably, stone-cold dead… He was… wait!… Being dead could not possibly be this BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!

Aloysius Bamber Cornelius Dudley Erasmus Fitzwilliam IV was BOOOORED TO DEATH. His countenance and serenity were critically injured, gravely impaired, grievously disabled, mortally wounded, life-threateningly damaged, battered, bruised and tormented. He had obviously been drug into the breakfast room at Rosings by a sloth… that was it… a Three-Toed Tree Sloth. Now he remembered. Why there was a sloth in the middle of Rosings was quite a mystery, but that was definitely what happened. He remembered it clearly. Upon descending the stairs this morning _without_ his idiot cousin Darcy, this sloth had used its deadly voice powers to maul him within an inch of his life and drag him into the sloth's breakfast room. Yes, he was definitely in a sloth's breakfast room, listening to the sloth drone on, sitting in the cold hard uncomfortable sloth's chair, eating the sloth's cold, miserable porridge, with an overly ostentatious but nearly unusable spoon.

 _Wait!_ Fitzwilliam jerked awake, as he had dozed off; and shivered in mortification. _The sloth was still here in the breakfast room_ , and still droning on about the absent Darcy, seemingly without the need to rest, blink, breathe or any other normal sign of biological activity. It was nearly superhuman and quite impressive if you thought about it.

Aloysius Fitzwilliam had learned the fine art of _appearing_ to pay attention while virtually asleep _In His Majesty's Service_. He had of course, also and most critically learned _Not To Stint_ on the _Proper Case Italics Letters_.

Naturally, being the son of an Earl, there was no actual danger of him ever participating in anything strenuous such as marching, fighting, planning, map reading, leading, shooting, swordplay, knife fighting, archery, cleaning swords, cleaning boots, cleaning much of anything, cooking, mending or any of the other unpleasant activities sometimes associated with wearing a red coat. He was however continuously subjected to even worse unpleasantness; including _listening to staff meetings_ , _listening to generals_ , _listening to generals daughters_ (even worse), listening to generals sons (worst of all), listening to enlisted men – scratch that last one, he was a colonel after all. _There were few people in England, one would suppose, who had more true talent for boredom than Colonel Aloysius Fitzwilliam, or better natural abilities._ He could tolerate the most boring man in the king's Army, nay! He could tolerate the Prince Regent himself with complete equanimity.

However, despite his years of extensive training, he found that he was not _quite_ capable of listening to his aunt drone on any longer. He and his cousin Darcy had worked out a routine over the years, with scientific precision, in the finest detail, worthy of the greatest minds of the kingdom. They came to their aunts  once each year, and calculated within the minute the absolute minimum amount of time that they could appear without having to listen to both their aunt and his father drone on about them not fulfilling their duties. In the end, the arithmetic was relatively simple. It was well worth spending an extra day at Rosings doing absolutely nothing of any value other than riding and drinking brandy; than spending an hour listening to either their aunt or his father. It was simple arithmetic after all, and a man who could plan a campaign or manage an estate could certainly do simple arithmetic. Well actually, now that you think about it, he was the son of an earl so he didn't plan campaigns either, and as the younger son there was little if any chance he would ever manage an estate either. When you got right down to it, other than wearing a red coat, looking very dashing, and spending money, he didn't really do much of anything. That's what Darcy was for.

All of this careful planning quite fell apart, when his comrade in arms, Fitzwilliam Darcy, unaccountably and irrationally decided to extend their stay at Rosings. Not once, but twice! Astounding! Unaccountable! Inexplicable! Fitzwilliam was completely lost in the intricacies of the mathematics involved in how much time had been wasted by these delays, and really could hardly be bothered to try to understand _why_ Darcy was still here. Perhaps he had a tender for the person's wife? You never knew about Darcy… Or maybe he was after that tiny little blonde thing that was the parsons' wife's sister.  Yes, that was it! **Darcy was in love with Maria Lucas**! It all made perfect sense. He met her while he was off in that god-awful place Bingley leased, lost his head completely and was chasing her all over Hertfordshire, and half of Kent.

All this had suddenly made sense to him about a quarter hour past. Satisfied that he understood the world in all of its particulars, Fitzwilliam had made the mistake of allowing a few of the words his aunt was saying to enter his consciousness, and was immediately put to sleep, as if by a siren's song.

Ordinarily, this would have been fine, hardly even noticeable or remarkable; but he in his distraction over Darcy and his little vixen from Hertfordshire had forgotten to place his head in a position where he would fall backwards into the headrest when he fell asleep. Instead, he was startled awake with his head falling precipitously towards his porridge. His military reflexes allowed him to wake up just before his head hit the critical bowl, but unaccountably, he squeaked like a mouse, which made the sloth growl menacingly. It was so frightening, he screwed his eyes shut tight, and tried to hold himself completely still, hoping the sloth might quit talking, but accidentally let loose a small (and truth be told, not very manly) scream. This made the sloth very angry, and it started howling! Wait… sloths didn't howl, maybe this was a hyena! Yes, that was it, a hyena. Hyenas were always after something that was already dead, so finding Fitzwilliam indisposed, it drug it off to crunch his bones, and make it listen to them talk about his cousins and her talent for things she had never learned.

Fortunately, before he was required to think his way through his unnatural obsession with odd forest animals, or his shameless plagiarization of Chapter 2, he was startled by the sound of a horse approaching at full gallop. It sounded like Darcy was being chased by the hounds of hell, or the French Army, or possibly Mariah Lucas – or maybe – the Parson! No wait, that was patently ridiculous. A duck could outrun the parson, and Darcy would never stoop to galloping his horse for that, as it would be most undignified, so there was only one possible explanation. Maria Lucas it is! The colonel wondered if he would need his sword, but felt shame over the thought. He couldn't possibly need that against such a slip of a girl… a knife or club should be entirely sufficient.

He looked over at his cousin Anne, and noticed that she had woken up to. Most people thought Anne was quite sickly, but that was far from the truth. Anne was actually a writer, and published some of the most popular novels in England under an assumed name. Whenever she was in company with her mother, she simply slumped down in her chair, left her eyes just barely open enough to witness the absurdities happening in the room, and dreamed of words for her next novel. Of course, since she spent half the night writing all the things she had thought of during the day, she frequently fell asleep in the middle of the day, which further cemented the reputation of her sickliness, which caused even more absurd behavior by her mother, her companion and their guests, which in turn gave more grist for the mill, which made her stay up even later writing, which made her appear even more sickly. Vicious circle, right? Anne had even mastered the art of falling asleep with her eyes open, which greatly diminished the sloth's power over her. She actually could have left Rosings long ago, but where would she go for absurdity then? Granted, Pemberley would be absurd enough when Darcy was there but he hardly ever was, and even Darcy at his most ridiculous, was a mere stripling compared to her mother. She thought about going to town to observe the _Ton_ , but even she, in her near-supernatural abilities to observe ridiculousness without going mad felt that might be beyond her.

Everyone in the room was startled out of what supply of wits they possessed (the quantities varied considerably, and truth be told, were well outside the bounds of a normal bell curve), when the door suddenly slammed open, and Darcy ran in full tilt and shouted, " **On your Feet! Pack your things Anne! We're going to Scotland! You too Aloysius!** "

This speech was so startling, so revolutionary, so radical, so groundbreaking that it caused the sloth to pause for breath. Fitzwilliam's military reflexes took over, and he jumped up from the table, grabbed Anne by her elbow and pulled her out of the room before the sloth could renew her attack. This was the Darcy he knew. This was the Darcy he had waited for. This was the paragon among men. Darcy was in fact stark raving mad, but he had at least gotten him away from the sloth, so Aloysius decided to accept his fate. Apparently, his fate was to be in Scotland. He wondered if Maria had a sister for him?

Darcy burst towards the door, shouting for his valet, a bath, a carriage, a fresh cravat, a rapid departure, a blacker horse, clean clothes and a jar of dill pickles. However, he had not counted on the mercurial nature of the sloth. Faster than lightning, she changed into a crocodile, the fastest animal in the world, and flashed across the room like lightning to sink her claws into the soft flesh of Darcy's arm.

"Darcy, what is the meaning of this. What in the world would possess you to go to Scotland? Have you gone mad?" said the Sloth/Hyena/Croc.

Darcy, without missing a beat replied, "To get married, of course! Why else would you go to Scotland?", and then he leaned down toward the croc, and whispered almost inaudibly, " _the men wear skirts there… with bare legs and_ _nothing_ _underneath I'm told."_ This had the intended effect and the croc loosened its near fatal grip on his arm for the slightest heartbeat, and Darcy made his escape towards the stairs.

The Sloth/Hyena/Croc started dancing around like a monkey, saying, "Getting Married! Getting Married! Getting Married! Getting Married! Darcy, finally! At Last! You are going to **do your duty**!", at which point she ran from the room full of happy thoughts for the future, yelling for her own carriage and her own jar of dill pickles.


	7. Flies on Walls

_**A/N: First a shout-out to some readers and writers who have acted as advisors, sounding boards and betas for me. Thank you QuietDaisy, Regency1914, royal-cobalt, ThinkAboutItBabe, AHealingRenaissance and their assorted cats and babies. Don't blame them for typos or nonsense… that's all on me.**_

This chapter is a bit of an experiment in a different writing style. Fear not, Chapter 8 will be back to business as usual and a road trip with our actual couple (and maybe some other assorted characters).

First though, I'm gonna take a crack at answering questions from the reviews just for fun. If it's not fun, just scroll down dear friend.

 _Guest: How or why would Darcy announce his plans in front of his aunt, leaving her a chance to come with them? Or is that part of the absurdity?_

It's part and parcel of the absurdity of this chapter, but I also have specific reasons I want LC to hear about this, which will start to be made clear maybe in chapter 9 or 10, and will push one thread of the story forward.

 _LucilleRicardo: Also, if you can, I think it would be great to see the 6 previous proposals! :)_

I plan to put those out in dribs and drabs, with the first description in chapter 7 or 8. Of course, I made up the number 7 arbitrarily, and never did figure out any of them except the three I mentioned in the chapter 1, so now I have to figure them out.

 _headless-nic: Also, I love the hidden side of Anne. She rocks!_

Quite agree. I actually thought about making her be JA, but thought that was a bit too much (OK, a lot too much). At any rate, I have plans for Anne. She actually has several other hidden talents as well. She may be super-Ann (or not).

 _Regency1914: Lady Catherine is going to be there? (Silent scream in the background because Darcy's marrying Elizabeth or because she just discovered they wear nothing?)_

Oh yes, LC will be there right to the very end. Big plans for her, but Mum's the word.

 _I'm curious as to how crazy this relationship will get and what Elizabeth's family will think of this. LOL_

I'm planning a bit of very odd and OOC behavior for the Bennet parents. I'm making it up as I go, so when I know, you'll know ;) (Spoiler: At least one of the Bennet sisters will be there in Scotland at the end)

 _Guest: Did... did Darcy's cousin (I'm tired and sick, so I don't remember his name) just break the fourth wall twice?_

I had to google the Fourth Wall. Yes, he did at least twice, and it probably won't be the last time. Why you ask? (well, you didn't actually) Because I thought it was funny, and I pretty much have no filter on this story. I take great pains on my _serious stories_ to use regency language and try to stay not too far OOC (or deliberately go way OOC), but this story is all about the farce right now. I will however start to ratchet it back to more the style of chapter 1 in chapter 8 and definitely more romance is on the way. One zany chapter left to endure.

P.S. I can't remember his name either, even the first name. In Dragon, I just made a voice alias for him, and I call him Sparky ;) Actually, we came up with that name by asking my group with the shout-out above for Ridiculous Regency Names, and I cobbled that together using their suggestions. He's like the Regency Wizard of Oz.

Fourth Wall… cool. Good to know. See how many violations this chapter has. There are at least two.

 _Tarlily: But what's with the dill pickles... lol_

It was just the most arbitrary thing I could think of. Serves no purpose in the story whatsoever… or does it?

 _EngLitLover: Letters were fun to read. Only discordant note was the letter to Georgie_

Agreed. I wanted to get her moving, but that one probably wasn't my best. Now I have to figure out if I'm going to send her to Longbourn or not (big head scratch). I think I know what I'll do with her in chapter 9, but it could change.

Thanks to georgette-heyer dot com slash for some of the phrases here.

BTW, if you want a little bit of fun, I shamelessly lifted some lines from a romcom for this chapter. See if you recognize it.

 _So, now on with the show: "_ _ **Flies on Walls**_ _"._

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\- Bzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz -

"Say, Darcy. I have you all figured out. You're not marrying Anne in Scotland, are you?"

"Certainly Not"

"Charlotte Collins?"

"Templated… but… No!"

"Just Checking! Haha… I fully understand who you've chosen for your lovely bride. I sussed it out just before you stormed in. Don't you think she's a bit on the young side, and such a skinny little thing?"

"Not at all. She's the perfect age. She's perfectly lovely. Everything about her is perfect… well except for that foul tempter of hers, but I think I can avoid that with good behavior."

"I never thought I detected any particular temper with her."

"You just never got in her sights."

"And you have?"

"Yes"

"Still carrying your shield, and not on it I see."

"Just barely"

"All that counts, old man"

"Yes, but let's get on with it. I'm anxious to get moving. You can chatter like a magpie with the four days we'll be on the road."

"Just one more thing! You know her very good friend at the parsonage thoroughly despises you, right? You'd best avoid her if you don't want a verbal flogging."

"She dislikes me?"

"Oh yes, most definitely. Can hardly stand the sight of you! Everyone knows that."

"That seems odd! I've hardly spoken to her."

"I noticed. Maybe that's why she's angry, or maybe you offended her in that backwater you went to with Bingley."

"Possible … Good thing I picked the right woman from the parsonage, eh! How bad would it have been to propose to someone who despises me? A bloodbath, I imagine."

"Yes, that would be suboptimal."

" _Less than Ideal_ "

"Not Recommended"

" _Worst Practice_ "

"Subpar"

"Aloysius!"

"Yes?"

 _"Easy on the Italics Buddy"_

" _Check!_... Too bad she only has one sister"

"You're really not that sharp on the uptake, are you Aloysius?"

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"I'm going with you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going with you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going with you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going with you."

"I beg your"…

"We need to get past that part."

"It does seem unproductive."

"Agreed! I'm going with you."

"I beg your pardon."

"I thought we covered that."

"Pardon me, please continue sir."

"I'm going with you."

"To where?"

"To Scotland"

"What makes you think I'm going to Scotland?"

"I know the entire story."

"I doubt that."

"I know enough of it. You're going to Scotland."

"Weeeeellllll. Yes, that part is true."

"With Mr. Darcy"

"You've got me there"

"Eloping!"

"Right again, I'm afraid"

"Thank you. I'm going with you."

"Why?"

"Because you're planning to travel with the stupidest man in _His Majesty's Service_ "…

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How do you inject both _Italics_ and _Proper Case_ into your voice?"

"Oh that. You have to move your tongue towards the back your throat and then squeeze your… er… Well, best not to cover that in any greater detail."

"I seeeeee… Agreed, best not go there"

"As I was saying, you are traveling with the stupidest… "

"Yes, yes… We covered that. Move on…"

"… And a man who proposed to you while he was bosky, ape-drunk, drunk as a wheelbarrow, jug-bitten, foxed, in his cups and tap-hackled on the worst brandy in England…"

" **That's spectacularly unfair sir!** The gentleman was stone cold sober when he proposed. He was rude… condescending… Insulting… and not very smart… or eloquent… or nice… or charming… or effective… but completely sober!... Of course, I was bosky, ape-drunk, drunk as a wheelbarrow, jug-bitten, foxed, in my cups and tap-hackled when I accepted him, but that's completely different."

"I seeeeee! That's so much better."

"Indubitably"

"Extremely"

"Not this again?"

"I think you're confusing our dialogues. I've never actually done this one with you."

"Good point! I beg your pardon."

"Not again."

Agreed! As I was saying, I feel it incumbent upon me to travel with you to protect your reputation."

"Ship… Sailed… Bell… Rung… Shot… Fired… Bridge… Burned… Milk… Spilled… Chickens… Hatched… Are you catching my drift sir?"

"Ah, I see! You put the cart before the horse."

"Maybe not before it, but at least beside it"

"I'm still going with you."

"Sir, I have only three questions for you."

"Continue"

"Are you seriously thinking you will go with me?"

"I must. I shan't be dissuaded or impeded. Nothing shall stop me."

"How do you know that it's the worst brandy in England?"

"The good liquor is hidden in the back of the drawer. The decanter is rotgut saved only for Lady Catherine's usage. She can't tell the difference."

"Very well… One last question"

"Proceed"

"Why are you speaking in short, clear, sentences Mr. Collins?"

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"Darcy, I'm so happy to see you finally doing your duty."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"I've been waiting for this for many years."

"I understand."

"Why are you eloping? You could have a perfectly lovely wedding right here with all of your family with a special license."

"I want to be married **now** , without all the fuss and bother of a local wedding. Also, you know full well not everyone in the family or the ton will approve of my bride. Would you prefer to give your brother, the Earl, a chance to interfere? Or have Caroline Bingley or the viscount at the wedding?"

"Yes, yes… I see your point. It's good that you're thinking of those things. Still, I wish I could shop in town for her trousseau."

"That's very generous of you Aunt, but you know my bride doesn't need more fancy things than she already has."

"Yes, that's correct. She carries all the elegance a Darcy bride could ever require. Her clothing is already quite sufficient for the task."

"My point exactly, Aunt. My betrothed has all the nice dresses she needs for the moment. She only actually needs one for the wedding you know. That one and… well, best we not discuss any other clothing needs for the wedding night… er… day I mean."

"You're a practical man, nephew. I like that about you."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"If this is to take place in Scotland, I must insist on attending?"

"I don't recommend it, Aunt. Your presence is not required. We will be doing four days of hard traveling. My betrothed and I are in quite a hurry."

"As you should be. You've waited much too long to make this union. Pemberley has been awaiting a suitable mistress for years. It's been a long time since my dear-sister died."

"All things in their own time, Aunt. Before it was not time. Now it is?"

"So you're a philosopher, are you? There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of philosophy than myself, or a better natural understanding."

"Yes, I can see that. Well, Aunt! I must be going. We will write you from Scotland."

"Very well, Nephew. Hasta la Vista."

* * *

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"Mrs. Bennet, when will our Lizzy return from Kent?"

"Oh, Mr. Bennet, I quite forgot to mention. Lizzy's return will be delayed."

"For how long?"

"Quite some time. At least a fortnight I believe."

"Why is that?"

"Because of Charlotte's pig"

"I fail to see how Charlotte's pig can have such an effect."

"Oh wait, now I remember. I think I got two parts of the letter mixed up. You know how I am with correspondence."

"Yes, my dear? You're nearly as bad as I am. I think Lizzy mentioned something about a letter to you in her letter to me, but I never made it past the first sentence. Pray tell me why her return will be delayed."

"Let's see. I have the letter right here. Let me just check. Hmmmm… Windows… Chimney… Cousin… Staircase… Chickens… Ducks… Frogs… Pig… Oh yes, yes! Here it is… Lizzy is going to Scotland to marry Mr. Darcy over the anvil on Tuesday next, and she has a diamond and ruby wedding ring."

"So she won't be back for at least a fortnight?"

"It wouldn't seem so."

"And she'll bring a new husband?"

"Apparently"

"So, she probably won't be staying long?"

"Probably not"

Sigh… "Perhaps I can teach Lydia to play chess."

"Papa! It's not fair that Lizzy gets to go to Scotland to get married, while I'm stuck here playing chess with you."

"Yes, yes, Lydia. I can see your point. Find yourself a beau and a ride to Scotland, and you may go, but take Kitty and Mary with you."

"Thank you Papa."

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"Say, Mick. Have you heard the latest? That Darcy fellow is eloping to Scotland with one of the ladies from the parsonage."

"Must be the skinny little blond one"

"Yes, that's the only possibility. You know the other one couldn't be dragged there if he plied her with brandy and compromised her, Haha… I'm sure if she met him in the woods, she'd as soon bash his head with a rock as look at him."

"Or a stick"

"A fan can be deadly"

"She probably keeps a stone in her reticule"

"Probably carries knives on her person somewhere"

"I'll bet the Dragon Lady is going to throw a screaming fit. We'll be picking up pottery all afternoon."

"No, that's the odd thing. Sam was there this morning, and she seemed perfectly happy about the whole idea?"

"Perfectly happy?"

"Yes, perfectly happy?"

"He's eloping with someone other than Miss de Bourgh, and she's not throwing anything?"

"No"

"Yelling at people?"

"No"

"Dismissing people without reference?"

"No"

"Taking to her bed with her salts?"

"No"

"Screaming for her parson"

"No"

"Instructing all and sundry how to do everything they already know how to do."

"No"

"Well, you have me flummoxed. What did she do?"

"Danced around the breakfast room like a monkey?"

"A monkey?"

"Yes, a monkey. I have it directly from Paul."

"What kind of monkey?"

"Paul didn't say. I'm not sure he's all that well versed in monkeys."

"So it might not have been a monkey at all. It could have been a gorilla or hyena."

"Yes, I suppose so"

"A bear or a wolf maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Bears and wolves don't dance."

"Point taken! Too bad Paul couldn't be more specific… Say, do you know who won the pool night before last?"

"Yes, it was James with sixteen and a half minutes."

"Morning gents, which pool are you talking about."

"Morning Michael. You know the pool for how long it will take that little brunette from the parsonage to set the right and honorable Mr. Darcy in his place."

"Sixteen and a half minutes. Nicely done!"

"Yes. She despises him, you know. Can't stand the sight of him"

"Of course! Everyone knows that."

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"Say Wickham! Your sense of style is… on the unusual side. I can appreciate the tar, but don't you think the feathers might be a bit much?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! You may want to reconsider your barber. I'm not sure having half of your head shaved, and the other painted green really works for you." HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! You're in the militia old man. Shouldn't your coat be red instead of brown?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! What's with the short trousers? What's next, leading strings?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! Why exactly did you get a giant letter 'L' tattooed on your forehead?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! Being a university man, perhaps you can enlighten me on a word problem. What exactly is _Congress_?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! Being a steward's son, maybe you can help me with some estate business. Where exactly would one purchase a goat?... At midnight!" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! There was a large gentleman carrying a knife and club who is looking for you. Said he was a bailiff. Did he manage to find you?" HAHAHAHAHA

"Say Wickham! What did you do to the Bennet sisters? None of them will talk to any of us now – Even Lydia!"

"Say Wickham! I'll take those 2 pounds you owe me – **Now!** "

"Me Too"… "Me Too"…"Me Too"…"Me Too"…"Me Too"…"Me Too"…"Me Too"…

"Say Wickham! The colonel wants to see you in his office – **Now!**."

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"Darcy"

"Yes, Anne"

"We're not _actually_ getting married are we?"

"Of course not, I'm marrying the love of my life."

"Ah, good to know! I never can tell about you when you're acting so irrationally."

"I'm in love. That's irrational by definition."

"Very true! You do know that her good friend in the parsonage despises you, right? You may want to avoid her."

"Odd, Aloysius thought the same thing, and I for the life of me don't understand it. I haven't talked to her much at all."

"I don't know, but it's clear from the way she looks at you that she's as soon squash you like a bug as talk to you. Can hardly stand the sight of you! I'd stay out of the way of her reticule and her fan if I were you. Maybe rocks as well."

"She hides it well. I'll have to make sure to avoid her."

"Good plan"

"Thanks, Anne. You will stand up for my betrothed won't you?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world. You know of course, you'll be in my next book… presuming you bring enough absurdity to the story."

"The story already has your mother, Mr. Collins, an elopement, Aloysius, Bingley and my future mother-in-law?"

"I'm good. See you in an hour… and Darcy."

"Yes"

"Whatever you do, don't bring the Bingley sisters."

"Ouch! Agreed!"


	8. Carrots and Sticks

_A/N: Hey gang, another chapter in the can. I post chapters when they're done, so it might be a day between or a week. This chapter leaves behind a little bit of the unrepentant silliness of the previous one, and the unconventional narrative style to get back to the long-awaited road trip. Flying to Sydney Sunday, so that's around 18 hours each way so maybe we'll get a chapter or two done. Following my long-standing tradition (of one chapter), I will answer a few of the questions from the reviews in a shameless plug to get more people to review me, which will give more questions to answer, which will… Vicious circle I know._

 _Tarlily: Mr Collins in their elopement party? Way to ruin a perfectly good elopement!_

I'm afraid so. Although I have to give you fair warning that I have OOC'd Mr. Collins considerably, although I'm not sure why just yet.

 _Regency1914: What is going to happen when Darcy realizes the lady that 'hates' him is Lizzy? And what will Lady Catherine do when she finds out he is NOT marrying Anne?_

All in good time, all in good time :-)

 _Guest: While I'm really enjoying the story, I am not a fan of the writing style of this chapter, but maybe others are. (Referring to the pure silliness of the dialogues of "Flies on Walls")_

Admittedly, that was a bit of an experiment. Probably would've been better if I'd shown a little bit of a starting point for each conversation, but the confusion of it was actually part of the point. There's a sum of the Unreliable Narrator going on here, and it's hard to imagine anybody less reliable than a fly. At any rate, back to regular narrative style now.

 _Suddenlysingle: I truly hope that Lady Catherine does not put an announcement in the paper while Darcy is gone, That could create a few difficulties for our dear couple. … change the name of the groom to whoever Anne is marrying_

Ooh! The announcement is such a fun idea. Maybe I can work with it. As for Anne's groom, you don't really expect me to tell you that now do you?

 _Sheila: And it is few men who could knock off 7 brandies and still make any sense in their conversation. …_ And now I am wondering if Mr. Collins stayed at Rosings over night

Being a man myself, I can tell you that we rarely make any sense under the best of conditions, let alone after so many brandies. As for Mr. Collins, I actually thoroughly explained why he missed the whole thing, but unfortunately, I did that in my other story, Circles… So if you want an explanation, you'll have to read that one .

 _Sheila: Sir, are you related perchance to Mr. William Collins?_

I can assure you madam that my esteemed patroness Amalia has provided me with a Regency dictionary ideally suited towards allowing a technology chief to write Regency fiction, being neither too specific nor too loose. I'm also equipped with the very latest in speech recognition technology, which ideally suits my purposes, as I have been told many times in the past. I have a keyboard that is neither too clicky, nor too soft, and whose pressure, size, key layout and mouse support is ideally suited towards a Ridiculous Regency Writer of my station (RRR maybe)…

 _Happylizzy: Won't everyone be surprised to see Lizzy instead of Maria._

Probably. I'm actually going to reveal that one a little at a time over the road trip (spoiler – it will take more than 4 days).

 _Katzenpfote: Mr Bennet did not really just dare Lydia to elope?_

Yes he did! Not sure which of the Bennet sisters will be there in the end, although betting on Jane wouldn't be a bad way to go.

 _Snsandsnsibility: Can Aloysius end up with one of the Bennet sisters?_

Not outside of the realm of possibility. PS, your review was hilarious.

 **And now, "Carrots and Sticks"**

* * *

Elizabeth Bennet loved the Darcy Coach. She loved everything about it. She loved the beautiful and well-matched horses. She loved the surprisingly handsome coachman. She loved the rough-and-tumble and obviously well‑armed footmen. She loved the shiny exterior, and the well‑appointed interior. She also had to admit that it would certainly not be deficient in handsome men to accompany her, not the least of which was her betrothed. _That thought brought a smile to her face, and left her to contemplate the happiness of the coming ceremony_. Best of all though, was its  complete lack of mothers or sisters. No Lydia to scream and fuss and make everyone miserable. No Kitty to cough and follow Lydia around like a lost puppy, repeating every bad behavior. No Mary to sermonize ( _boy, what she would have to say about Lizzy's current state of affairs – Shudder_ ). No mother screeching about hedgerows and entrapments and how her beauty was nothing compared to Jane's. **Wait! No Jane!** That part would not do at all.

She rushed over to Darcy breathlessly and asked softly, "Baby Bear"

"Yes my Sweet Baboo"

"You're two centuries early with that endearment you know."

"Right, I'm a blockhead." When had Baby Bear learned to tease?

"I'll miss Jane terribly at the wedding. Could we fetch her to attend if we delay the nuptials for a few days?"

"I could send Fitzwilliam to town to escort her using my other carriage. He could bring Georgiana while he's at it."

"Oh! Would you? That would make me so happy!"

"Anything for you, Wolf Mother… but there will be a penalty to pay."

Elizabeth quite liked the idea of a penalty. It held promise, but probably best not to discuss it in the drive of the parsonage.

"That's so sweet. You know I love our animal names. It will always remind us of that first night when I started loving you… or at least, that first morning when I thought I was going to die or already had."

She glanced around quickly and maybe just a touch guiltily, and reached hand up to give him a caress on one cheek and a quick kiss on the other before continuing; "Now we should get going before the colonel loses his breakfast over our icky language. I'm not sure his training is sufficient for such an ordeal."

"Good idea"

With that, Elizabeth happily skipped off to examine the coach in more detail. Damn! She loved this coach!

The colonel's breakfast was safe for the moment, mostly because he missed the entire exchange. He was busy taking care of some important business on the other side of the coach, and came around just as they finished. He was surprised to see Miss Elizabeth walking away from an obvious tête-à-tête with Darcy without the accustomed look of derision he had come to expect. Perhaps Darcy had taken his advice and was tip-toeing around her carefully or maybe even being polite… No, that was too much to hope for, but at least he didn't seem to be antagonizing her this morning?

Darcy said, "Cuz, what would you think about riding like the hounds of hell to town, picking up Georgiana and Jane Bennet, and bringing them to Scotland for the wedding?"

"Why Jane Bennet? Is that Miss Elizabeth's sister? Wasn't she Bingley's paramour?"

"Don't go there! I'm afraid we have a bit of a mess between Bingley and Miss Bennet that I'll have to straighten out after the wedding… Wait!... Now that I think about it, let's do the two birds thing. If you can sneak Bingley out without either of his sisters knowing; bring him too but in his own coach. He probably won't understand why, so you may have to abduct him. Make sure you don't leave any conveyance for his sisters, even if you have to burn or sell his spare coaches, sell his horses and send his grooms to America. Burn his townhouse with the sisters in it if necessary. Bribe their servants to put itch powder in their riding habits. Pay pirates to abduct them to Australia. Sell them as indentured servants. Marry one of them off to your brother. Just make sure they don't follow you."

"So… Hounds of Hell… Bingley, Miss Bennet, Georgiana, burn house, indentured servitude… Yea… Bingley Sisters… Nay… Anyone else?"

"No, I think that should do, unless Georgiana wants to add someone, although I can't think of anyone else. Of course, we are going to Scotland so if you happen to stumble upon a bride for yourself, you might as well bring her along too."

"One question… Why Jane Bennet?"

"She's extremely close with my betrothed. In fact, she's her closest ally in the world, and what my bride wants, my bride gets."

"I guess they grew up together so it makes sense."

"I always make sense."

"Not really, but we'll let it go for now. Say, I noticed you talking to Miss Bennet. You seem to be getting along much better with her."

"Yes, you could say that." Darcy said with a grin. Fitzwilliam was always restating the obvious, probably because of his military training. That was when he wasn't saying something that was a complete cock-up of the facts … again, almost certainly due to his military training."

"Good to know Cuz. You may survive this yet. Well, I'm off to town. See you in Gretna Green."

With that, the colonel mounted his horse Marigold, and rode off in the direction of London.

Mr. Darcy was just getting ready to join his betrothed to leave when he was unaccountably accosted by none other than Mr. Collins.

"Mr. Darcy, might I have a word sir."

Darcy was astounded. Not only was he being accosted by Mr. Collins, but he seemed to be getting right to the point. This was astonishing.

"Mr. Collins."

"Sir, as Miss Elizabeth's nearest local male relative, I feel I must accompany her to Scotland with you to attend the wedding and offer what protection I may. I understand she is already well protected, but I feel I must do my duty."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes"

"Are you certain? It seems a very few words sir?"

"Ah, you refer to my manner of speaking?"

"Yes"

Mr. Collins looked around to insure that they were not overheard and said, "Mr. Darcy, I must confess that I have been receiving… er… instructions from my wife on deportment, and it seems likely that when all of the particulars of your elopement become known to Lady Catherine, I may be in search of a new living. It wouldn't do to offend my new patron."

"And Mrs. Collins has wrought this change?"

"Yes"

"Just Mrs. Collins? No tutors? No instructors? No dogs? No torture?"

"Just her"

"I must admit to being all astonishment. Tell me, how did she manage it?"

"Well, sir… Do you know the parable of _The Carrot and The Stick_?"

"Yes, I believe I've been told that I'm quite familiar with all aspects of muleage, although I'm not entirely certain it was a compliment!"

"Quite so, Mr. Darcy! Quite so… Well…", again a cautious look around and, "Without being too forward sir, may I suggest that _the carrot_ is generally preferable _the stick_."

"That seems sensible, Mr. Collins."

After an even more cautious look around, Mr. Collins added with a whisper, ' _Although it must be said, on certain occasions, the stick is not to be disdained.'_

"Probably best to not go into detail, Mr. Collins. That might be Too Much Information."

"Agreed, Sir."

"So back to the main point, Mr. Collins. I really cannot bring you to Scotland. My apologies."

"Quite all right sir. Lady Catherine has graciously agreed to let me use one of her carriages, for she has several!"

"You're backsliding, Collins"

"Right sir. That last slipped out. You won't tell Charlotte?"

"Mums the word"

"Thank you sir. I'm favoring the carrot at the moment. You realize of course that Lady Catherine may not be fully conversant with all of the details of the wedding?"

"Such as?"

"I suspect her sanguinity with the situation may be related to the fact"… He took another careful look around before whispering, _'She may not be completely aware of the_ _exact_ _identity of your bride.'_

Darcy was stunned. In his brandy addled state this morning, it had seemed as if everyone must know what he knew, but reviewing the interview at Rosings showed he could be entirely wrong. Could Aunt Catherine believe he was marrying Anne? That would certainly explain her odd behavior. For that matter, did even the colonel know? Anne asked him, but it never occurred to him to enlighten anybody else. Oh well, he couldn't worry about that. Elizabeth knew, and it was good enough for him.

"Mr. Collins, now that I think about it; maybe Lady Catherine believes I'm to marry Anne? I should have been surprised by her easy acceptance, but I didn't want to look a gift mule in the mouth."

"A horse, sir?"

"Beg pardon?"

"A horse sir. It's a 'gift horse in the mouth'. You may be mixing your metaphors."

"I think you may be right. The whole _sticks_ thing may have me rattled."

"So the _carrot and sticks_ metaphor is responsible for your confusion, rather than the brandy?"

"I will assert that to my grave."

"As you should sir… But back to the topic. Lady Catherine wants me to go to Scotland, and I would very much like to go… if nothing else, it will deprive her of one carriage."

"And one parson to help her move about. Your plan is uncommonly sensible, Mr. Collins."

"I try sire. I suggest I take my wife and sister in law in Lady Catherine's carriage, while you transport my cousin and Miss de Bourgh in yours."

"No more good sense Mr. Collins. I fear my head may explode."

Mr. Collins chuckled at this. Who would have thought Mr. Darcy could tease, or that he would understand it. Between Mrs. Collins and Miss Elizabeth, the world as we know it was changing. Maybe he could even venture into such unknown territory, "From the brandy or the good sense sir?"

"The combination is overwhelming. Now if you will excuse me, I must away."

Both men turned to gather their prospective brides and family members into their respective coaches, both hoping for carrots, but not entirely distrustful of the sticks either.


	9. If I Had Ever Learnt

_A/N: Not that much to answer this time since I only published the last chapter yesterday. I'll have to resort to shameless bragging and/or begging. I'm up to 182 reviews and itchy to get to 200 (so I can start panicking about 300), so go on, I dare you._

* * *

Meanwhile back at the Darcy coach, Elizabeth found much to her chagrin that she would be traveling for days with Anne de Bourgh, and she had never really spoken with her at all. How many times had she been to Rosings without having a single conversation? She remembered her first observation that she was a pale and sickly looking creature that would make a proper wife for Mr. Darcy. Ouch! It was quite an uncharitable thought when you got right down to it, so she resolved to try harder to be a better person.

Anne for her part was a little disappointed that she wouldn't be traveling with Darcy's bride, Maria, but not very much, because she was traveling with the infinitely more interesting bridesmaid, Elizabeth Bennett. Maria appeared to be traveling with her sister and the parson, and she couldn't think of anything that would induce her to enter that carriage. Miss Bennet was quite a fierce creature, and Anne was determined to get to the bottom of her disdain (probably deserved) for her idiot cousin. Maybe she could even keep her from killing him during the trip. It seemed unlikely, but she thought it would be somewhat inconvenient to have to haul Darcy's corpse all the way back to Pemberley for burial. She hated Pemberley. It was such a dull place, and with Darcy buried out back in the cemetery, it would be pretty much unbearable, plus she really didn't have any black clothes that she liked. So all in all, it seemed the best thing was to keep him alive for the moment.

Darcy approached the pair with Elizabeth still admiring the coach and said, "Ladies, after my exertions at the decanter last night I believe I need an hour or two on horseback, and it wouldn't hurt the two of you to get to know each other. Besides that, my horse is mad at me… Probably for getting engaged without his permission. Do you object if I ride until our first stop?"

Elizabeth looked a bit disappointed, but it seemed unlikely she was going to be able to share any intimacies with her betrothed with Anne in the coach anyway. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know her new cousin, so she agreed to the scheme. Darcy handed both ladies in and they were off, with the Collins family following in Lady Catherine's coach.

As soon as they were out of sight of Rosings, Anne turned and asked, "Miss Bennet, we are to be stuck in the coach for days, and our formal names seem quite unwieldy. Might we agree to use our given names?"

Elizabeth could see a gleam of amusement in Anne's eyes and a small nearly invisible smile that she would never have suspected. It looked like there might be more to this lady then she previously thought. If Miss de Bourgh could tease, she could play along.

"I am agreeable to that scheme, but I'm afraid it would not be to your benefit. In my case, I will be trading three syllables for one… a clear victory in vocabulatory efficiency. You however, will be trading three syllables for nine, which is not to your benefit. I feel guilty that you will get the poor end of this bargain."

Anne had to laugh at the absurdity of the answer. She asked, "Are you telling me your numerous, plentiful, abundant and multitudinous sisters always call you by the full mouthful, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth played along and said, "Of course not. They naturally call me Lizzy. I give you leave to do the same, though I still feel like I'm gaining the most benefit."

"Well, you are obviously a very fair-minded person. It seems like it must be Liz and Anne, or Lizzy and Annie. Perhaps we should establish a schedule for alternation, or choose randomly, or maybe use the longer version only when we are certain to be in mischief."

"That seems a good scheme. Escalating to Lizzy certainly beats ' _Elizabeth Grace Bennet, get out of that tree this very instant. You will never catch a husband if you continue these hoydenish ways. I swear your petticoats are six inches deep in mud'_."

That brought a good laugh to both ladies, and the ride proceeded apace.

After a few minutes of companionable silence Anne asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions Liz. It would greatly assist me in my endeavors."

 _"May I ask to what these questions tend?"_

 _"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she. "I am trying to make it out."_

 _"And what is your success?"_

 _She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."_

Anne sat in confusion as Liz laughed, and laughed and laughed to the point where she was giggling and snorting like Lydia. Maybe this wasn't quite such a silly-sister-free a trip after all.

After some time, she was finally able to quit giggling and explain to Annie that she had a nearly identical conversation with Mr. Darcy at the Netherfield ball.

Annie asked, "And what was his reply?"

"It was quite grave, and I believe it was something like, ' _I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either_.'"

Liz sat pensively for a moment and then added, "He was right you know. I thought I had his character thoroughly sketched, but I did not know him at all."

"And do you now?"

"Oh yes, I think I do" she said with a smile.

Anne said, "Lizzy, I heard you play in the pianoforte the other night and while you seem a little bit bashful about your talents, I can tell you that you gave everyone in the room great pleasure. It's actually quite a rare gift."

"I can only think those that took pleasure were simply polite in ignoring all the difficult sections I had to muddle through."

"That's just the thing though. Fitzwilliam's sister Georgianna is much more technically proficient than you are, but she would practically die of mortification after a single missed note, sufficient to run from the room crying in terror. You could miss an entire section, and be perfectly content, and your audience would be as well. People might _appreciate_ her proficiency, but people _enjoy_ your performance. That is a rare talent."

This new intimacy was quite surprising to Liz. She had obviously underestimated Annie, who was clearly trying to become a friend.

"Annie, have you any talents that I don't know about? I apologize that I've been in your company many times without ever having a conversation with you, which is really quite unforgivable."

"It's perfectly all right Lizzy. I go out of my way to make myself a small target when at home, so it's not surprising that you would have missed it. I actually do have two talents of note.", she said a bit shyly.

"Please enlighten me Anne"

"I'm actually an author, and somewhat famous."

Lizzy's astonishment at this knew no bounds. She had never actually known anyone accomplished enough to be an author. She knew plenty of women like Carolyn Bingley who liked to pretend to accomplishments, but had never actually met anybody who really had the makings.

"What type of books do you write? Would I have heard of any of them?"

"I write novels, and it's entirely possible you have. They're mostly based on the absurd things I see it Rosings. I even have my cousin Fitzwilliam in one of them… I couldn't resist the absurdity of his manners. I'm continually sketching characters, which was the reason I asked you the questions a little while ago. I'm trying to make out yours, and I find that I do not get on at all. Don't be surprised to find yourself in one of my books, and I dare say it may be my best."

Elizabeth had to laugh about this. While she would now probably defend her betrothed to death, she did have to admit that his manners had been a little bit ridiculous in the beginning (all right, a lot)."

"Be careful Annie. I too love to sketch characters, but I find I'm sometimes both wrong and confident in my assessment, when I should be ignorant and humble."

"Excellent advice, Lizzy"

"I should very much like to read your books Annie."

"And so you shall. You may have already."

With that, Annie described a few of her books, and it turned out that Lizzy had actually read one of them. She was quite looking forward to reading the rest of them, and delighted in making a new friend.

Annie looked a little pensive, and then said, "I also have another talent. I can draw, but I never show anybody. Would you like to see?"

This was again surprising, and equally agreeable. To be the first one to see Anne's drawings was a something she would cherish forever."

"Yes, I would like to see them very much!"

Annie opened a secretary from the side of the coach, and pulled out a small sketch on parchment, which she handed over.

Elizabeth looked at the drawing in astonishment. It was extremely good. The sketch was done in charcoal, and the characters seem to jump right out of the page. She had managed to catch the essence of her character and her story in just a few spare lines.

The drawing showed a group of people milling around in a room, probably a ballroom. She had to smile when she saw a vampire crawling across the walls along the outsides of group, scowling, and looking hungrily for his next meal of blood. She recognized her betrothed almost immediately, and had to laugh at the characterization. She said, "This is incredible Annie. You have captured his essence entirely."

Anne was very happy with the praise. She had been publishing her novels for many years now, and felt completely confident in her ability with the written word; but had always been afraid to show her drawings to anyone. Elizabeth had set her completely at her ease, and she was now reaping the rewards.

"Thank you so much Lizzy. I've been afraid to show them to anybody. Would you like to see more?"

"Yes, very much!"

This is a subject I paid hardly any attention to until recently. She made a surprisingly good match though, so I thought I should sketch it immediately.

The drawing showed a respectable but slightly rundown church, nearly empty with some bells in the background. Scampering around in the pews, you could see a tiny little church mouse with a face that looked exactly like Maria Lucas. It was well done, although not to quite the quality of the previous one. It had the look of a rush job that Annie must've created that very morning.

Elizabeth was confused by the reference to a good match. Had Maria somehow managed to secure Colonel Fitzwilliam? She was coming along to Scotland, when there was no other obvious reason, so it seemed that must be the case; but they seemed a very odd match. Once again, Lizzy was astounded at her lack of discernment about what was going on around her. Right now, she would rate her observational capabilities on par with Caroline. Elizabeth was mystified by Maria's match, but really had trouble worrying very much about anybody's betrothal other than her own, so she put it aside for the moment. Maybe she could ask Baby Bear about it later.

"Annie, that one is good but it looks a little bit rushed. So Maria is to marry your cousin?"

"Yes Liz, I thought you knew that", Annie said with a clear look of confusion. It seemed odd that the formidable Miss Bennet was going all the way to Scotland without even knowing the particulars of who is getting married, but she had seen stranger things in her mother's house.

Annie next removed another drawing. This one was done in charcoal and chalk, but with a slightly different style. She'd obviously been experimenting with different techniques, and must have either experimented a lot or perhaps had instruction from a master. In this drawing, she could see a large group of people cowering around a throne, with their hands pressed over their ears, which appeared to be bleeding, listening to an actual Dragon at the front of the room. Elizabeth had to laugh at the image, and said, "I presume your mother will never see this one?"

"You presume correctly. Would you like to see my _favorite of all_ ", Annie asked breathlessly?

Without waiting for an answer, she removed a drawing that was slightly larger than the others. Even from across the coach it looked like it was more intricately done. This drawing was done in ink, and it was by far the best of the lot… actually the best drawing Liz had ever seen. The lines were clean and sparse, but everything about it spoke of an uncommon skill. Not a single line was wasted, every single stroke contributed to the overall effect. The drawing seemed to pull her down right into its midst, and made her feel almost as a participant.

The scene was chaotic, some type of battle or disaster. While she could not see all the details of the mayhem, it was clear that it was a scene of utter destruction. You could almost smell the sweat of the horses, and blood of the vanquished; and you could hear the screams of pain of the wounded. Striding through the middle of it was some type of Valkyrie. She was at least nine feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing a flowing black cape and leather armor like a gladiator. On her head was a helmet of iron with horns sticking out. Her long brunette hair was streaming out wildly in the wind. She looked like a Viking's nightmare. This Amazon warrior was the most fearsome looking creature she had ever seen. The warrior queen was holding her hands high overhead, with the hammer of Thor tightly gripped in both fists. She was furiously swinging it down as hard as she possibly could, doing her best to smite her lowly opponent. Elizabeth gasped to see her own face under the helmet, with Thor's hammer falling unerringly towards the head of her mortal enemy… Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Oh my!"


	10. Pirates of Pemberley

_A/N: Think you'll get a twofer today. Two chapters, then I spend the day slinging code but I have an 18-hour flight to Sydney tonight so expect at least one tomorrow. Wade_

* * *

Lizzy realized she had some serious explaining to do to Annie. She had a sense that Anne would find the whole thing as absurd and she did, so if there were a good laugh to be had, she'd best get on with it. Perhaps Anne would learn the dangers of sketching characters too.

"Annie, this is absolutely the very best drawing I've ever seen in my life, possibly the best one I've ever heard of. However, I think you're operating under a serious misconception, at least as of last night."

Annie looked at her in confusion, since this didn't make any sense at all.

Just as Lizzy was about to start explaining the actual object of her affections, she was interrupted by shouting from the footmen, and from Mr. Darcy as well. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of running horses… a lot of running horses, and Mr. Darcy yelling into the window for her to stay put. She also heard Darcy instructing the footmen to hold their fire, as there didn't seem much point in getting somebody killed when they were vastly outnumbered.

Lizzy glanced out the carriage window, and saw well over a dozen heavily armed men come around the corner to surround the coach. While being unaware of the usual toll collecting methods for this part of Kent, this seemed a bit excessive even for Lady Catherine.

As the various ruffians held their weapons trained on the inhabitants of the coach, a man who appeared to be their leader came forward to take charge.

Darcy asked, "What is the meaning of this?"

The leader looked him over and asked, "Mr. Darcy I presume."

"Yes"

"Mr. Darcy, I'm afraid I've been charged with detaining you for a bit. Have no fear; you and your companions will come to no harm, and we won't even do any real damage to your purse."

"I'm certainly I feel so much better now with the assurances of such a _gentleman_ as yourself." Darcy replied somewhat sarcastically. "What do you intend?"

"Mr. Darcy, I'm afraid I'll need to ask the ladies to exit the coach. I'll be having words with them as well."

Having little choice in the matter, Darcy dismounted and went to hand the ladies out. Being surrounded by a half-dozen armed men did nothing for either ladies confidence, but they also saw little if any benefit in disagreeing or making a fuss.

At that point, Lady Catherine's coach pulled up behind, and was immediately surrounded by another half-dozen ruffians who ordered all the inhabitants to remain in the coach.

When Liz and Anne were standing beside Darcy, he asked, "Might I have your name, sir. I like to know whom I'm dealing with."

"Rogers"

"And your given name?"

"Jolan"

Liz couldn't quit stifle a giggle. The pressure of this situation plus the aftereffects of too little sleep, and too much brandy was taking its toll.

The leader looked at her menacingly and asked, "and just what is so funny little miss?"

Liz tried to demur and remain silent hoping he would forget the whole thing, but he was riled up now. Rogers walked up to her, stared at her and said, "Out with it. **Now**!"

Lizzy as so startled, she blurted out just what she was thinking, "Could your given name be shortened to 'Jolly', sir?"

"Yes, some of my men call me that, why?"

Liz could barely keep a straight face and replied, "With a name like Jolly Rogers, I think you may well have missed your true calling, sir."

Liz could see Anne also trying to stifle a giggle. She probably wasn't used to being hijacked by highwaymen any more than Liz was. Mr. Darcy on the other hand looked as if he did this every other day between fencing, riding, shooting and other gentlemanly pursuits; but even he was having trouble suppressing a smile, which he thought might be counterproductive.

"And what profession would such a name be suitable for, missy?"

Lizzie sighed in exasperation. There really was no accounting for the lax approach to education today's highway men favored. Had they no pride in their profession at all? There must be ample time between their various criminal activities for quiet study and reflection. Her father would be most disappointed in these men… no, wait… he actually had Lydia, so he might find these criminals an improvement. At the very least, they would be less expensive than Mother and Lydia. But enough woolgathering, time to answer the question.

"It just seems sir, that with a name like that you would have been well suited to be known as the _Dread Pirate Rogers_."

Rogers looked a little chagrined and replied, "I'm afraid of water, so such a profession would be inconceivable."

That was just too much, and Lizzie and Annie both broke into a fit of giggles, which did nothing for the mood of the highwaymen.

Trying to regain control of the situation, Rogers straighten himself up and assumed a more menacing posture.

"Mr. Darcy, I've been given very specific instructions by my employer. I am to separate you from your betrothed for a few days. Miss Lucas is to travel back to Rosings in the other coach."

Darcy and Lizzy were confused by these instructions, but agreed that any scheme that sent some of the party back was a good idea so they would play along. Maria was such a fragile thing she was probably already swooning in the other coach anyway. A quick glance was enough to ensure agreement between them, and they said nothing about the mix-up.

Darcy said, "Very well. Miss Lucas is in the other coach. She's the small skinny one."

Roger seemed satisfied with his answer, and sent one of his men to insure that Miss Lucas was in the coach as advertised. It would not do to be sloppy, so he asked his man to ask her name without prompting just to make sure Darcy was not trying to pull one over on him. You never knew what these rich men get up to.

Rogers was not new to this kidnapping business, so he knew that gentlemen were easier to control if you brought a lady or two with them. Looking at the pair descended from the coach he added, "I believe I will bring one or two of these ladies along to keep you from mischief, Mr. Darcy. I understand there's a Miss Bennett who particularly dislikes you. Which one is she?"

Elizabeth saw no point in dissembling, and she didn't really want to be separated from her betrothed anyway, so she said, "That would be me."

With an evil looking grin, Rogers said, "All right Miss, you'll come with us."

He gave a bit of an evil laugh at the severe discomfort he was about to subject this ridiculous woman too. _'Jolly Rogers, indeed! Who did she think she was?'_

Rogers had one last bit of business to take care of.

"I am to send Miss de Bourgh back to Rosings and take one of the others with me as extra insurance… What's your name girl", he said looking directly at Annie.

Without batting an eye, Annie said, "I'm Charlotte Collins. Miss De Bourgh is in the other coach with the clergyman."

"Fine, you ride with Jimmy over there."

He chuckled to himself over the punishment for the other snippy little miss.

"Miss Bennett, you get the pleasure of traveling with the last man in the world you would ever want to share a horse with." HAHAHAHAHAHA

In fairly short order, the coaches was turned around and sent back to Rosings. Darcy, while not all that enamored with the idea of being attacked by highwaymen, was _not so very unhappy_ with the idea of sharing a horse with his betrothed. It was tough to tell what Annie thought, but she looked like she might enjoy the adventure… or at the very least, she would have more material for her next book.

Darcy lifted Liz up to the horse and mounted behind her, then they set off, still under heavy guard.


	11. The Hounds of Hell

_A/N: Missed my plane today, so probably only get this chapter ;( Thanks everyone for the reviews and favs. Just crossed 200 reviews (shameless preening ensues). Now a but of Fitzwilliam and Georgiana (yay). Back to D&E in the next chapter. Now enjoy, " **The Hounds of Hell** "  
_

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam was a man of deep convictions. Being a member of _His Majesty's Service_ , his life was all about _Duty, Honor_ and _Service_. He considered being in Darcy's service to be equally as important as his service to the king, and he managed to extract a lot more geld from Darcy, so it was essential that any task given to him by his cousin be carried out properly.

Darcy instructed Fitzwilliam to ride like the Hounds of Hell to London, so that's exactly what he did. He rode five miles outside Rosings to the _Hounds of Hell_ tavern. This was conveniently located right along his route (well, it was if you considered riding five miles in the wrong direction right along the route), so how could he _not_ stop there.

The Hounds of Hell was owned by a Spanish lady who had been in England for a decade, and still didn't appear to be able to speak a word of English. Nobody actually knew if she was really so ignorant or not, so tended to not guard their tongues as much as they might, and some suspected she pretended ignorance for her own purposes. She went by the odd name of _'Service'_ , so she certainly fulfilled Fitzwilliam's first requirement. She only actually had two items on the menu, so not speaking any English wasn't as big of an impediment as you might think. A customer could cry, "Service! Duty Here", and he would immediately get a _Duty Pie_ , which was made of mutton, potatoes, peas, carrots and maybe some other things you didn't really want to know about. "Service! Honor please", and you would get a mug of _His Honor's Special Ale_. Such a place suited Fitzwilliam very well, and he thought if he wasn't in such a hurry to help out Darcy and his little bride, he might lose himself here for a week. The tavern boasted all the duty, honor and service he needed, so he was content with his lot.

However, if not _literally_ duty bound, he did remember he had heard that Miss Bennet's sister was uncommonly pretty, so he thought he should get on with his task as soon as possible. Thus he only stayed in the tavern for the _absolute minimum_ of three days. What was Darcy going to do, get married without the bride's best friend, who seemed to coincidentally be Miss Bennet's sister? Run off with Pirates? Clearly, there wasn't so much of a rush. Darcy and his bride would be enjoying their Scottish hospitality when he arrived.

Eventually, he decided to see if Miss Bennet was as interesting as advertised, so he mounted his horse and worked his way to town. Once there, he immediately set about locating the missing sister… well, he actually went to Darcy's townhouse for a meal and some brandy, then went to Darcy's club for some more brandy and cards, then of course it was past calling hours, so he had to wait until the next day.

Fitzwilliam finally called at the appointed house in Cheapside, only to find that _she wasn't there_. The nerve of the woman! Was everyone this flighty these days. Didn't she know he was coming to escort her to Scotland for her best friend's elopement? Inconceivable! A short conversation with her aunt, accompanied by some truly magnificent pastries gave him the intelligence that Miss Bennet had left only the day before to Hertfordshire with none other than Mr. Bingley. So, Hertfordshire it was to be. Since he didn't have to abduct Bingley, who seemed perfectly amenable to abducting himself for the leg-shackles, he thought it safe to ignore Darcy's instructions regarding the Bingley sisters. Bingley couldn't possibly have been stupid enough to tell them where he was going or what he was doing. There were limits on stupidity, and even Bingley was smarter than that. With that happy thought, he forgot about the Bingley family altogether.

All he needed now was Georgiana and he would be off, so he rode back to the entirely non-canon townhouse in Grosvenor Square, and entered with a flourish.

Georgiana was in the breakfast room, so Fitzwilliam slammed open the door, ran in full tilt and shouted, " **On your Feet! Pack your things Georgiana! We're going to Scotland! You too Mrs. Annesley!** "

This whole scene seemed vaguely familiar to Aloysius but he couldn't quite place it, nor could he think why he expected to find a monkey in the room. Georgiana was unsurprised by the outburst, having been appraised of the situation by the redoubtable Miss Bennet, so she was ready to leave immediately, and had been for some days. However, she knew all about her cousin's proclivities, and was worried she might lose him. Quick as a flash, she jumped up from the table and grabbed a red cape she kept in the breakfast room for just this purpose. She waved it in front of her cousin like a matador to stop him charging… but alas, she moved just a touch too slow. Aloysius saw the coffee and scones on the sideboard, and he imitated Lady Catherine imitating a crocodile, which you know by now is the fastest animal in the world. Quick as a flash, he had gone to the sideboard and scooped up scones and blueberries and cream and bacon and eggs and tea and sugar and biscuits and honey and tucked in. Georgiana knew she could do nothing until he finished at least one plateful, so she began preparations for the next phase of the operation.

Georgiana was very familiar with her cousin and all of his foibles. Nobody and nothing could disrupt his breakfast. She had been trying for years. Once, she had the tuner set all the strings of the pianoforte randomly and played the most awful cacophony you ever heard… no effect. She once cut his waistcoat off with scissors, and lit it on fire in a brazier… no effect. She scratched her fingernails on a chalkboard, and banged on a bell with a sledgehammer. She even cut off half his hair one day with his sword… no effect. No, nothing was going to disrupt his breakfast, so like an army colonel planning a campaign (the actual fighting colonels, not the sons of earls), she prepared her weapons.

The problem was that she had foolishly allowed both scones and blueberry jam on the sideboard this morning, and that produced a predictable but unfortunate reaction in her cousin. Once he partook of the scones, he would want some brandy. Then that would make him want more scones, and so on and so forth until he ended up asleep in the library. That was normally the best place for him, but today she had important business to conduct.

Her brother had the perfect tool for the job. He had a concoction he obtained from India at great cost, primarily for parlor bets that was the hottest sauce known to man. It was hot, hot in the mamby-pamby-weak-stomached-Englishman sense of the word, but **HOT!** It had red peppers. It had black peppers. It had curry. It had horseradish. It even had crushed fire ants, and cobra venom. This was all topped off with cinnamon, to give it a nice smooth effect. This was the sauce to do the job. Georgiana waited until the perfect moment, put a good dollop of the magic sauce in Aloysius's coffee and waited patiently.

The effect when it came was both immediate and gratifying. Aloysius turned red. He turned white. He turned red again. His hair stood on end. He started sweating profusely. He said a few words that weren't strictly in the vaunted _list of approved words suitable for the gentle ears of young ladies_. He stood up, and sat down. He ran around the table like a monkey (but  not it should be noted the same species of monkey as his aunt… that would be undignified). Most excitedly, Fitzwilliam (the _other_ Fitzwilliam obviously) jumped up, and rushed out of the breakfast room yelling, "My horse! **My horse**!"

Unfortunately, he was not quite as recovered from the red hot spicy pepper and fire ant and cobra venom as he thought, and he ran headlong into the door, bounced off, fell flat on his back, jumped back up, opened the door, and ran out still screaming for his horse.

Georgiana waited patiently, and a minute later, he came back in, completely recovered and almost rational. Aloysius said, "As I mentioned, we need to go to Scotland for a wedding."

"I already know that, Aloysius. I've been waiting for you."

"How did you know about it?"

"Miss Bennet wrote to me."

"Miss Bennet?"

"Yes"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet"

"Yes"

"She's uncommonly helpful considering her opinion of the groom."

"Not really, why wouldn't she be helpful?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Cousin, Miss Bennet gave me explicit instructions. We're to go Hertfordshire before Scotland."

"Darcy told me that too. Well, not exactly that, but close. I'm to get Miss Bennet's sister for some unaccountable reason. She appears to be closely connected to the bride, and is apparently Bingley's latest angel. I just found out this morning she went back to Hertfordshire, so we do have to go there. It's incredible that Miss Elizabeth knew how it would work out. She must be scary smart."

"She seems so."

"All right, we're off to Hertfordshire. I was to find Bingley as well, but he's already gone off to Hertfordshire so we can catch up with him there."

"How about his sisters?"

"Now that you mention it, your brother told me to do something about the sisters, but I can't remember the details. I was supposed to either bring them, or make it impossible for them to come."

"And you can't remember which?"

"Afraid not"

"You realize the two choices are exact opposites?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Mutually exclusive"

"Agreed"

"Impossible to confuse"

"Correct"

"Hmmm… In absence of clear direction we should follow our own council."

"Wait! Now I remember. I'm supposed to indenture their servants I think, or take his carriages. Something about burning something or other."

"His carriages might be convenient if we need to take anybody else to Scotland! I understand there are several Bennet sisters that might like to attend. **And** I would  really not want the Bingley sisters to join, whether my brother wants them or not."

"Agreed. So we have a plan. Steal Bingley's carriages and go to Hertfordshire."

"Perfect plan, let's go."

With that, they went across the still non-canon square to Bingley's townhouse, absconded with his last remaining coach, and set out for Hertfordshire to meet the _Famous Bennet Sisters._


	12. The Vultures of Kent

Elizabeth Bennet loved riding a horse with her betrothed. She loved everything about it. She loved being outside in the sunshine and fresh air in the woods she loved so much, instead of cooped up in a carriage. She loved her beloved's fearsome horse. She loved the fact that it was a tall, black, bad tempered, beautiful stallion. She loved his name, "Thor", Son of Odin, the Hammer Wielding God of Thunder, Lightning, Storms, Oak Trees… _(Oops, speaking of the Hammer of Thor; she really needed to correct Annie about her true affections)_. She even loved that the horse was such a cliché. I mean ' _tall, black, named after a god… Really!'_ She loved snuggling up to Baby Bear, and the less said about what happened when he kissed the back of her neck the better. She loved the feel of his arms around her waist, and the squishy feelings that produced… well, again, excessive detail might be best avoided. She loved the smell of him. She loved the shape of his hat, and his tall and handsome person. Yes, this highwayman business was most inconvenient, but it did have its compensations and she was loving _every single minute_ of it. Yes, Elizabeth Bennet was completely happy with her lot in life, riding on this fine stallion with her beloved fiancé… for about an hour.

Elizabeth Bennet hated riding this infernal horse, with this insipid man she was attached to. She hated the horse's stupid name… who named a horse after a god, how stereotypical could you get? She hated the saddle sores that were developing on… well, again excessive detail was still be avoided, but suffice it to say, you don't really want to know. She hated the smell of the infernal man she couldn't escape… who smelled of sandalwood? And what exactly _was_ sandalwood to make it such a popular fanfic trope? She hated the jostling, and the sun that was about to fry her brain, and the uncomfortable breezes coming off the local hills. She hated the pitted ruts of the horrid woods that they were forced to traverse instead of the smooth speed of the roads and a well-slung carriage. Worst of all, she hated this man behind her that she just couldn't escape. If she had the hammer now, she wasn't sure if she'd kill the horse or one of the men first. She didn't know if she wanted to kill Jolly or Fitzwilliam more, but it was a difficult decision. She really was about to strangle man or beast or… when the horse had to jump a small tree, and Fitzwilliam unconsciously grabbed her a little higher around the middle than usual and… …weeeellllll, maybe it wasn't _quite_ so terrible after all.

This went on forever and ever and ever, back and forth, love-hate-love-hate-love-hate. Was marriage going to be like this? If so, she wanted no part of it… but on the other hand, she rarely saw spinsters riding horses with handsome men. During one particularly unpleasant bout of… well, we said no details… she finally decided to ask one of the pirates to shoot her and be done with it; when they entered a small glade with a neat cottage on the far side, next to a picturesque stream, entirely suitable for a story of this nature. It was rather archetypical, rather than clichéd and it meant she could get off the damned horse, so she liked it very much indeed.

Jolly Rogers made a quite regal flourish of his hat and said, "Welcome to your jolly abode."

Liz said, "You've been waiting all day to say that, haven't you?"

"All my life, my lady"… HAHAHAHA

Liz looked over at Anne, and found she didn't seem quite as put out as she might have thought. Anne had been stuck on a horse with a complete stranger, obviously a far worse situation than Lizzy's but didn't seem so very unhappy. She hoped that Anne wasn't entertaining any romantic notions. Granted, the boy was _quite_ handsome but he was obviously not the highest ranking member of this pirate band, maybe not even midlevel; so his prospects wouldn't suit for the heir to Rosings. Even Jolly Rogers himself would be marginal. On the other hand, he was _quite_ handsome, and Rosings did not usually host a surfeit of handsome men, and what with Liz herself about to reduce the current crop by half, maybe Anne was rethinking her level of pickiness.

The ladies were ushered into the house, and shown to a room they were to share, while Fitzwilliam was shown to another room on the other side of the house. You couldn't be too careful. No telling what these gentlemen would get up to if they were close to the ladies. He might try an escape, even if it was only to the ladies room. Jolly was a gentleman, so he wished to maintain all appropriate propriety… well, except of course for the kidnapping, which probably wasn't _quite_ within the normal bounds of decorum; and forcing the ladies to share horses with unknown and detested men probably wasn't strictly allowed either; but other than that, everything was shipshape. He loved that word, as long as there were no _actual_ ships involved.

Liz threw herself on the bed, and started ranting about how much she hated horses, and how much she hated being abducted, and how much she hated Fitzwilliam Darcy in particular, when she just ran out of steam (which wasn't really a thing yet). She stopped talking mid-stream, the brandy and shortage of sleep caught up with her, and she fell asleep on the bed in mid-rant, but not before Anne had an _epiphany_. Lizzy didn't look all that unhappy with her situation during most of the ride, just when she was in real pain, and  nobody could rant about someone they _actually_ disliked that much.  Nobody could carry on in such a manner giving completely redundant information to the woman who drew her as Thor…unless… unless… unless… **Eureka! She had it!**

Elizabeth Bennet was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy. **They** were the ones going to Scotland to get married. Everyone in the party was completely wrong in every particular. Worse yet, they had apparently all decided to follow the lead of Aloysius Fitzwilliam despite the fact that he hadn't been correct about a single thing since… well, she couldn't remember the last thing he was right about. Elizabeth Bennet was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth Bennet was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth Bennet was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy. It all made sense. It was all so perfect! It was all so lovely! Elizabeth Bennet loved Fitzwilliam Darcy, and  nobody knew except her and probably Charlotte Collins. You didn't get anything past Mrs. Collins. There was some chance Mr. Collins had stumbled on the truth as well… and Mr. Collins' behavior was very peculiar before they left; almost sensible and trustworthy; very odd indeed.

At any rate, whoever hired the pirates was operating under the same assumptions as everyone else, and they separated him from his erstwhile betrothed by forcing them to ride together on a horse for six hours. OOOhhhh! This was so delicious. This was so wonderful. If her mother hired the pirates, she was just going to die when she found out the real story. Her new best friend Liz was going to take the _ton_ by storm. She was going to rip and rend, shred and tear. She would be the talk of the season… the talk of the decade… maybe the century. This was to be the wedding of a lifetime (literal for some, figurative for others). Annie felt like she might even be persuaded to go out into society as long as she had her Valkyrie friend beside her. Yes, yes… That was it… The two of them were going to take the _ton_ by storm. They would have tea with the queen, and turn down dances from the prince regent. London would never be the same.

Annie got extremely excited that she now fully understood the story, and she felt a little bit like her own sort of warrior queen… because she knew she, Anne de Bourgh, had a role to play in this drama. She was obviously going to be the troubadour that gave the story to the world, but she could also be a player. This was too perfect for words. This demanded that she immediately begin writing this most excellent story down, and to send it along the appropriate channels; and of course, she had some letters to write. The story couldn't continue without an appropriate protagonist, and really it was her turn!

Anne began channeling her mother and screaming for writing supplies. She beat on the door until a poor beleaguered servant answered it, then demanded to see Jolly immediately. Once Jolly was there, she used her mother's voice, and her mother's mannerisms, and her mother's words, and her mother's shrill tone, and her mother's implacable stubbornness to make her demands known. By the time his ears started to bleed, he would do anything just to get her to shut up. He agreed that she should be able to write a few letters to relatives, and he would send the ever-handsome Jimmy to post them. He even agreed to have some of his men deliver the more important ones by express. He agreed to give her enough supplies to make notes for her next novel as long as she promised faithfully to omit the whole _afraid of water_ thing (just for completeness, she promised the opposite should he fail in his duty). Oh, Lizzy was going to love this… or come back and burn Rosings to the ground… one or the other. This was going to be so wonderful. Lizzy and Annie, Queens of the world!

The servant came back a half-hour later with some quite disreputable parchment, and some quills that looked like they were plucked from a buzzard that died eating the carcass of another dead buzzard six months ago, but she didn't care. Anne de Bourgh had parchment. Anne de Bourgh had ink. Anne de Bourgh had her best friend _Lizzy Bennet_ who was  in love with _Baby Bear Darcy_ , even though she would have been happy to bash his skull in two days ago. Annie didn't mind that the quill looked like a buzzard's feathers, even though buzzards were an American thing, so that was most likely a literary affectation rather than an actual bird. She had everything she needed to make the greatest novel ever written. People would be reading this novel in 200 years… Nay, 1000 years. She would be the best novelist of all time. This was fantastic. This was unprecedented. This was historic. This was… _frustrating_. The thesaurus had been invented 6 years previously, but Annie's copy was waiting back at Rosings, and she was fresh out of overused adjectives. She would have to add more fluff to this paragraph later during revisions.

With a contented sign, Anne looked over at her source of inspiration asleep on the bed, reviewed everything she knew about her and everything she thought about her, and put together a surprisingly accurate picture of just how everything came about. Vampire Darcy probably offended her… not that much of a stretch to figure that one out. Probably wouldn't dance with her, insulted her appearance or said something rude about her family… the usual. She had obviously used her superior intellect to put him in his place _without him even knowing it_. She was so smart, and he so clueless that he probably thought she was flirting with him. Things went along, bumpy bump until **Bang**! A little brandy, a little snuggling and everything was turned completely topsy-turvy. Yes, this was the story of her life, and she got to be both player and troubadour.

Anne almost skipped over to the writing desk. There was much to be done, so with a happy heart, she gathered paper and ink; and set about the task of mending her buzzard feathers.


	13. The Cavalcade

_A/N: Wrote this one on my way to Sydney for installation of my company's first international sale. Had to write it on my iPad due to laptop problems, so please enjoy._

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The afternoon sun was waning as the cavalcade of coaches passed through Meryton. Two matrons stood outside the haberdashery watching the carriages go by.

"Oh, that looks like the Darcy coach, Mrs. Bennet."

"Indeed it does, Mrs. Philips. I can hardly stand the sight of that man. He slighted my Lizzy at the assembly, you know."

"But isn't he to marry your Lizzy?"

"Of course. Of course… I quite forgot. In that case, perhaps he's not so bad. I quite welcome his 10,000… er, I mean I quite welcome him as a son. He's the finest of men."

"The best"

"A paragon"

"A true gentleman"

"That wasn't him in the coach though, was it? My eyes aren't what they were."

"No, I don't believe it was."

"That was a fine and well dressed young lady though. Are you sure it wasn't my Lizzy?"

"Not at all. You know how these rich young wives can change their appearance, but I don't think it extends as far as that."

"Another coach! Isn't that a Bingley coach?"

"Yes, I believe it is."

"There seems to be a lack of Bingley's in it though. In fact, it appears to be quite empty. Not even Miss Bingley's lace."

"It was very fine lace."

"The finest"

"So intricate"

"So smooth"

"There's another Bingley coach."

"Well, as I always said, Mr. Bingley is always welcome at Longbourn… and that goes for his empty coaches as well."

"Do you suppose they're going to Longbourn?"

"Perhaps I could go check."

"But then you would miss Mrs. Long's orange treacle."

"I quite like treacle"

"More than Mr. Bingley?"

"You're right. You're absolutely right. How silly of me. We must go to Mrs. Long's at once."

"As I thought."

The matrons went about their business, and thought about the coaches no more.

Inside the coach, Georgiana was giddy with excitement. This did not set well with Mrs. Annesley as she did not hold with giddiness or excitement, but there was naught to be done about it. Georgiana started asking excited questions of her cousin.

"Oh, won't it be wonderful to meet all my new sisters… well, soon to be sisters. There are four of them, you know. I can't wait to meet them… And I can't wait to meet Elizabeth. Do you think it would be all right to call her Elizabeth? or even Lizzy since we're practically sisters. Are the other sisters older or younger? Are they all similar personalities? I can't wait. Just think. Five Sisters!"

"Five Sisters!"

"Yes! Five sisters"

"Extraordinary… And Darcy never mentioned any of them."

"Not a word"

"Very strange"

Fitzwilliam had only heard about one of the sisters, _Bingley's Angel_ and he was quite keen to see her. She had been described by both Darcy and Bingley as quite the most beautiful woman in England, possibly in the world. He just had to get a glimpse. Darcy apparently separated them, so maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she wasn't quite such an angel. Maybe she had bad table manners. Maybe she read the same boring books Darcy did, or worse yet, talked about them. Maybe she played chess.. Maybe she was an anarchist or an American. _Maybe she was insane!_ _Maybe Bingley was insane_! Yes, yes, that was it. The perfect explanation. It all made sense. Bingley was insane! No other explanation would suffice to explain taking Darcy's advice on women, since it was almost always wrong.

Aloysius determined he had to get to the bottom of this, and if Bingley's Angel was as beautiful as described, he would sweep right in and steal her away. Wouldn't that be something! Getting the jump on both Darcy and Bingley. Of course, he had to see this angel first. No point in getting ahead of himself.

Fitzwilliam was quite ready to work himself into a fit of the vapors when he _saw her… Bingley's Angel_! Now he understood what all the fuss was about. She was absolutely and unequivocally the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he determined then and there he would steal her heart away. Hang Bingley, he had his chance and missed it. He would win her hand, or fall on his sword, which was actually harder than it sounded. If you just put the thing on the ground facing up and tried to fall on it, the hilt was likely to skitter away, or maybe the sword would just fall over before you got to it. That meant you had to prop the thing up on a rock or a tree branch, and then you would just look undignified, laying there dead as a doornail, draped around a random tree. If you got a carpenter to build a proper sword stand, it would take days and a lot of Darcy's money. Worst of all, with all of these schemes, there was a chance you would miss something vital and just injure yourself, or worse yet, not injure yourself at all and damage your shiny red coat. You could trip and fall and have it just cut off half your hair (that had actually happened to him once over breakfast and the ribbing at the mess was merciless), so all in all, it would be much better to gain his angel's hand than to have to submit to the sword.

Aloysius jumped from the carriage, and immediately reached back to help Georgiana out, even though she was perfectly capable of doing so herself, and unlike Fitzwilliam she could at least brag that she had never done a face-plant on the way out of a carriage. However, chivalry demanded that he assist her and there was no way Aloysius was not going to be properly chivalrous. Once Georgiana was on the ground, he rushed over to the intoxicating, enchanting, beautiful, charming angel of his dreams and stated his case in no uncertain terms.

"Miss Bennet, I presume?"

So impressed was she by his demeanor, she simply nodded her head.

"I am Aloysius Fitzwilliam, colonel in his majesty's army, son of the Earl of Matlock, one hundred forty seventh in my class at Cambridge and a master swordsman. I am a gentleman, a scholar and a judge of fine whiskey. I am also quite able to leech nearly infinite funds from your soon to be brother, Fitzwilliam Darcy who is rich as Croesus… and I beg you to accept my hand in marriage."

Even for Aloysius this was uncommon behavior, and he sat watching his lady-love, waiting for her answer. Would she make him the happiest of men, or crush his heart forevermore. Would he be happily on his way to Scotland, or subject to the derision of disappointed hopes, subjecting himself to misery of the acutest kind.

His angel stared at him for a moment, obviously carefully considering all of her options. Georgiana was never quite certain that she actually nodded her head, but Aloysius was more than satisfied with her response. He grabbed his angel around the waist, swung her around three or four times (nearly killing them both with the aforementioned sword in the process), kissed her soundly on the lips, ran over to the carriage, handed her in and shouted, "Roster! To Scotland! There's not a moment to lose." This might have been considered quite scandalous, but Mrs. Annesley was still in the coach, so propriety was maintained, and Fitzwilliam was content with the world. His angel would be his wife in less than a week, and hang Bingley. Let him shift for himself.

The carriage slowly started moving, then picked up speed and headed down the road, presumably to meet with Darcy in Scotland. Georgiana, sighed, and said, "Not again."

As the dust slowly settled, she talked to the head Bingley coachman and suggested they retire to Netherfield, and await their master's instruction. Bingley must be here somewhere, but since her cousin had now snatched his bride away, she thought it best not to be present when he found out about the bride-snatching, let alone the coach-nabbing. All in all, maybe Mr. Bingley was best avoided for a few days. He was a very amiable man, but perhaps even he had his limits, and if pressed too far, he might do something insane… like call for his sisters, or maybe propose to one of the remaining Bennet sisters.

With a resigned sigh, Georgina watched the cavalcade of coaches leave, and went to the manor house in search of Mrs. Hill.


	14. Mending her Buzzards

_A/N: Well again, thanks for all the reviews. They've been coming in fast, and I really appreciate them. I'm not going to give detailed answers this time, but I will answer a few questions:_

 _Which Bennett sister is Aloysius taking?_

Do you really want me to tell you whodunit? Of course, everybody knows the most beautiful Bennet sister is Jane, right?

 _It was Lady Catherine, it was Lady Catherine, it was Lady Catherine… Am I right in my right am I right?_

Maybe

 _Why did Fitzwilliam say "soon to be brother", when he doesn't know about Darcy and Lizzy_

Oops… I'm a blockhead

 _So what's up with Mr. Collins?_

Nothing in particular, he's acting perfectly within his normal character. Why do you ask?

With no further ado, Mending Her Buzzards

* * *

Sun 11 April 1812  
Pirate Cottage in the Woods, Kent

Lady Catherine de Bourgh  
Rosings, Kent

Dear Mother,

I must congratulate you on your unparalleled sagacity, perspicuity, perceptiveness, discernment, shrewdness, and prudence, showing how those of elevated rank are so much above those of baser, more humble and dare I say, lesser birth. Your astute and timely assistance in the matter of Mr. Rogers has most assuredly, undoubtedly, definitively and unquestionably halted a dastardly, dishonorable, shameful and reprehensible plot to pollute the shades of Pemberley in its tracks. You have correctly discerned the underhanded, sneaky, duplicitous actions of my Cousin Darcy's scandalous engagement, and your bold actions have stopped it short.

Now, I must allow my own breeding as your eldest and only daughter to assist you in your noble endeavors, as I am here with Mr. Rogers looking after your best interests as if you were here yourself. Trust me mother, I will ensure and guarantee that Darcy marries the appropriate bride in Scotland, and you can trust me to do all that is necessary on your behalf.

To do so, I must beg of you to abandon your usual and righteous tendency towards absolute candor, and to keep my council so that our plans so carefully laid may not be thwarted. By now, you have no doubt noted the return of Miss Lucas, and may well be distressed that she pretends no knowledge of any betrothal to my cousin. I beg you to allow her this small deception, for she deserves no more of your condescension or attention than a church mouse. In fact, you must go along with her deception in every particular. You cannot possibly be expected to explain yourself to such a lowly creature, but you may ask Mrs. Collins to do so. Please show her this letter and she will act unrelentingly in your own best interests which obviously coincide with my cousin's best interests in all particulars. Despite her low station, Mrs. Collins is quite clever and between her and your esteemed parson, they will do all that is necessary to send the little church mouse back to her mouse hole in Hertfordshire, and assist us in making sure Mr. Darcy is well wed, as appropriate for a man of his station, family and breeding.

Rest easy mother! You have done your duty splendidly, and now as your daughter, allow me to take up the reigns and ensure that the rest of our carefully laid plans are executed to perfection. Simply instruct Mr. Rogers that he is to escort all of his present company to Scotland, and I swear on the graves of all of our noble ancestors that our cousin Darcy weds the exactly appropriate bride.

Your Dutiful Daughter,  
Anne de Bourgh

* * *

Sat 11 April 1812  
Pirate Cottage in the Woods, Kent

Mr. Bennet (the one with 5 daughters… figure it out)  
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Mr. Bennet,

Please excuse the impertinence and impropriety of writing to you directly, but I find it necessary since my new best friend Liz Bennet (you may know her as Lizzy, or possibly Elizabeth Grace Bennet when she is particularly naughty), is currently having a well deserved rest, having drank massive amounts of brandy, followed by acceptance of a proposal from my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, followed by a planned elopement to Scotland, followed by an attack by pirates and a long ride on horseback, which I am told she particularly abhors (at least she abhors horses.. I'm not certain how she feels about pirates). Needless to say, she is somewhat fatigued, or I would charge her with writing you herself.

Worry not though sir, as all is quite well. My mother appears to have engaged the pirates to waylay your daughter in the mistaken impression that Mr. Darcy was engaged to Miss Maria Lucas. My mother, preferring that Mr. Darcy wed me, took it upon herself to set things right as she sees them. I have no desire to marry my vampire cousin though, so I find my desires in perfect alignment with your daughter who does; so if he marries your daughter instead of me, all will be well.

I must apologize for my mother's excessive zeal in engaging the pirates who have waylaid us, but you need not be concerned. I do forewarn you though, that if Miss Maria Lucas should return to Hertfordshire, she may seem more confused than usual. I recommend you simply ignore anything she says.

I have instructed my mother to ask the pirates to escort us to Scotland, so as you can see, all is quite well and your daughter will be married within the week. I just wrote to apprise you of the situation.

Your daughter's new best friend,  
Anne de Bourgh

P.S. If my _other_ cousin Aloysius Fitzwilliam should call, you should take anything he says with a grain of salt.

P.P.S. Should the term 'pirate' cause you concern, fear not sir. They're actually much more along the lines of highwaymen, and I apologize if my loose use of the term 'pirate' caused you undue alarm.

P.P.P.S. My cousin Darcy is not an _actual_ vampire. That's a literary shortcut. You need not worry overly about your favorite daughter becoming a creature of the night. I assure you that such an occurrence is no more likely in Scotland than in London.

P.P.P.P.S. Should my other cousin, Georgiana Darcy come to visit, you need not worry about her being a vampire either. As you well know sir, vampirism is acquired through being bitten, and is not a familial trait.

P.P.P.P.P.S. All of the above with respect to vampirism can also be said of lycanthropy. Neither of my cousins are werewolves, either. I mention this merely for completeness, and to possibly impress you with the fact that I know what the word "lycanthropy" means.

* * *

Sat 11 April 1812  
Pirate Cottage in the Woods, Kent

Augustus Fitzwilliam, Fifth Earl of Matlock  
Matlock House, London

Dear Uncle,

I wish to inform you of the latest events from Kent, some of which involve your sister and my mother. You are probably unaware that my cousin Darcy has proposed to a Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire and been accepted. We are on our way to Scotland to allow them to be married over the anvil. Unfortunately, this plan was not to my mother's liking, so she engaged some highwaymen/pirates to abduct us. Fortunately, my mother was quite confused about the nature of the bride, so all is well. I have written to my mother to ask her to release the pirates, and we shall be away to Scotland as soon as her reply can be obtained. So you see, all is as it should be. Not only will Darcy be married to the prettiest and smartest woman in England, but I will not be marrying my vampire cousin. Everyone wins.

If I could trouble you, I would ask you to perform a few small services for us.

1) Please plan a ball for a fortnight hence to celebrate the wedding. I'm sure my aunt will have ample opportunity to work out the particulars.

2) Please place an announcement in the papers, as I'm sure Darcy in his brandy-addled state probably forgot to mention it. Please make the announcement subtle and dignified, so as to avoid scandal. I believe wording similar to "Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in a scandalous elopement to Scotland with a band of pirates", should suffice.

3) Please prepare to present Elizabeth and myself at court, and ask the queen if we might have some of those lemon bars aunt favors so much. In absence of lemon bars, I really would be much obliged for some raspberry treacle. In absence of treacle, I believe the queen could make her own decision about a tertiary choice.

Your Dutiful Niece,  
Anne de Bourgh

* * *

Anne's exertions were disturbed when she heard the door open, and in walked her own cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy. As quietly as she could, she whispered, _'Fitzwilliam, what are you doing here? How did you get here?'_

 _'I muscled the bars off the window in my room, overpowered three guards, worked my way down the hall and picked the lock.'_

Anne gave him a stare that would scare a Gorgon.

 _'Alright, the door was already unlocked and unguarded.'_

Anne arched her brow exactly the way Elizabeth always did in movies, though never mentioned in the book, but that was good enough for Annie, because everyone loves Jennifer Ehle.

 _'Two guards'_

Anne didn't move.

 _'One guard and I climbed the trellis.'_

"We're on the ground floor."

Fitzwilliam looked defeated, and admitted, "All right, I bribed the guard with a guinea I keep hidden in my coat for just that purpose."

"Why didn't you say so? That's a better story than running around acting like a caveman."

"You think Elizabeth won't be disappointed?"

"Not at all! You need to suck it up, and quit being so worried about her."

"I thought she quite hated me on the horse yesterday."

"Yes, well… you may not want to ask her too many details of that ride. Suffice it to say, I'm nearly half-certain she'll wake up loving you instead of hating you in the morning."

"In the morning! No, we need to go now. We can't stay here subjected to the whims of these barbarians."

"You realize, barbarians and pirates aren't the same thing."

"Sorry, another literary slip. You realize these are actual highwaymen?"

"Actually, no I don't. I'm convinced that these are employees of my mother, and I have a plan."

With that, Anne showed Fitzwilliam her letters, and described how she was going to solve all of their problems. He was quite impressed. He had to say he liked this new version of Anne, and told her so.

"It's all Liz you know. She brought us both back to life.", she said ruefully, even though she wasn't exactly sure what that word meant.

"That she did my friend… That she did… So what next, captain?"

"Go back to your room. Rogers has agreed to let me write my mother and our uncle, so we'll have to await the reply. We're not going to try to escape these ruffians. That's too dangerous, and they'll let us go freely once my mother reads my letter. You should know that Liz is _not quite_ ready to ride again anyway. It's probably best not to describe the exact nature of her malady."

"I know all about saddle sores, Anne. How did you manage to do so well?"

"You know I'm a pale sickly creature, right?"

"I would never say that."

"But you would think it?"

"I suppose so. I've just become accustomed to not thinking that much of you at all."

"I understand William. To answer your question, I have a bit of what you might call a bony b… well, let's just say that I had some relatively substantial padding sewn into my undergarments in places you don't want to know about. I'm fine with horses."

"Are you fine with Jimmy too?" Fitzwilliam added with a smirk.

Anne just gave a little smirk of her own and shooed him out of the room, so she could climb into bed with her new best friend for a well-deserved rest. Tomorrow or the next day, her plan would come to fruition and all would be well. In the meantime, she got a whole day with Liz and she was so excited she wanted to scream.


	15. Breakfast at Longbourn

_A/N: Just a short chapter (and sillier than most) for the moment, and then I'm working on another Georgiana chapter as we speak. Everyone is asking which Bennet sister absconded with Fitz. I try to narrow it down here, but there are still two possibilities._

* * *

"Good morning, Mrs. Bennet"

"Good morning, Mr. Bennet"

"Good morning, Girls"

"Good morning, Father"

"Mrs. Bennet, has our Lizzy changed her hair?"

"Not that I know of, Mr. Bennet but you never know with rich newlywed wives. They might get up to just about anything, and changing hairstyles would not be out of the ordinary."

"I see. How about hair color?"

"Some ladies will make their hair darker, yes"

"How about lighter? Is it the fashion to turn long luxurious stereotypically dark brunette curls that are impossible to tame with ordinary hairpins, into long, straight blonde hair, that a hurricane couldn't dislodge."

"Oh, how you vex me. Nobody could change their hair that much… or could they? You know the Abigails are quite skilled in town."

"Just so. Just so. One more question, Mrs. Bennet"

"I am at your disposal, Mr. Bennet"

"Is it the common practice in town… or Scotland for that matter… to get taller after the wedding?"

"Perhaps some type of high heal is involved"

"The lady in question is sitting down."

"Perhaps some kind of padding?"

"NO PADDING! WE WILL HAVE NO DISCUSSION OF PADDING AT MY BREAKFAST TABLE."

"Lace?"

"Yes, after the padding, lace seems a much safer topic"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet, I really have nothing new to say about lace."

"Nothing to say about lace… Nothing to say about lace… my nerves are all a flutter"

"You've been waiting a long time to say that, haven't you my dear?"

"All my life"

"I'm glad I could accommodate you"

"Mrs. Bennet, may we return to the discussion of height and hair color, because I really feel our Lizzy may be ill."

"Why not ask her sir, she's right there."

"Quite right… quite right… So, Lizzy! What do you have to say for yourself? You can see you are vexing both of your parents exceedingly.

"I'm not Lizzy."

"NOT LIZZY!"

"Calm yourself my dear. Let Lizzy speak for herself."

"Pray continue, Lizzy"

"I'm not Lizzy. I'm Georgiana Darcy. Miss Elizabeth Bennet wrote me to tell me she's marrying my brother, Fitzwilliam Darcy over the anvil, and she suggested I come here and take up my role as a Bennet sister."

"Yes, Yes! Now it all makes sense."

"Was I in error sir? Should I have announced or introduced myself yesterday? I can see I violated normal rules of propriety by absconding with Miss Bennet's position in the household without your leave."

"AND WHY SHOULD YOU ANNOUNCE YOURSELF IN YOUR OWN HOME? I swear, Georgiana Bennet, you make no sense at all, and you vex me exceedingly. You're as nonsensical as your sister Lizzy. Do you climb trees too?"

"Not recently"

"Very well dear. We shall have to find you a husband. Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Bennet. He will not suit."

"Mrs. Bennet. Why so formal? 'Mama' was always good enough for you before."

'"Yes, Mama"

"So... no, Mr. Bingley?"

"I'm afraid not Mama. He's a wet behind the ears pup."

"Yes, yes, everyone knows that"

"So tell me, how was your trip from town dear?"

"Quite lovely! I traveled with all the stolen Bingley coaches, my brother's coach, my cousin and my companion."

"Oh, tell us about them, dear"

"Well, I came from town with my cousin Aloysius Fitzwilliam. He's a colonel in the…"

Georgiana was rudely interrupted by the sound of two bodies hitting the floor, and the screeching of Mrs. Bennet, "HILL! HILL! Bring the salts for Lydia and Kitty."

A small hubbub ensued while the two youngest were revived, before breakfast could continue. Mrs. Bennet said, "Pray, continue dear."

"Well, as I was saying, I travelled from town with my cousin Aloysius Fitzwilliam. He's a col…"

Like a striking cobra, Mrs. Bennet's hand shot out to cover her mouth, and she said, "Not again, dear"

Georgiana tried to think of something accurate, but more innocuous, and said, "Yes, er… cousin. Col… er… He's the son of the Earl of Matlock…."

Georgiana was rudely interrupted by the sound of a body hitting the floor, and the calm and controlled voice of Mr. Bennet, saying, "Hill. Might we be troubled for some salts for Mrs. Bennet?"

A small hubbub ensued while the matron was revived, before breakfast could continue. Mr. Bennet said, "If you might continue young lady."

"Let's see… Col… oops… Ear… oops… Oh yes, now I remember. He absconded with your most beautiful daughter. He proposed most gallantly, and I'm at least half certain she accepted so they left for Scotland with my companion Mrs. Annesley as chaperone, to be married over the anvil in a fabulous dual ceremony (perhaps in a larger than usual blacksmith shop) with my brother and your daughter Elizabeth."

Georgiana was rudely interrupted by the sound of several bodies hitting the floor simultaneously,

"Oh, dear"


	16. Breakfast of Pirates

_A/N: Chapter 15 was pretty short, and it's bedtime her in Sydney so just one more, then off to bed. Once again, thanks ever so much for all the favs and reviews. I enjoy each and [insert more mushy sentiment here]._

 _Enjoy "Breakfast of Pirates"_

* * *

Elizabeth gradually awoke to a feeling of extreme confusion. On the one hand, every part of her body hurt, and some parts hurt much more than others. On the other hand, she was now safely ensconced back in her comfortable bed, with her Jane snuggled up beside her. With Jane back in her presence, all must be right with the world. The only oddity was that Jane seemed to have lost a lot more weight since she had seen her than seemed possible. Could it be that she was not eating at all, with all of her suffering over the perfidy of Mr. Bingley?

With a start, she jerked awake and saw that she wasn't in fact snuggled up with Jane. She was snuggled up with Anne de Bourgh; or as had been determined yesterday, Anne or Annie. The previous day's exertions gradually became clear to her, and she started feeling badly about how sorely she had abused her betrothed during the day. She was once again thoroughly and hopelessly in love with him, although if she had that famous hammer she would probably still be inclined to kill his horse. Her forgiveness only went so far, and she really thought she could use a hammer in the morning.

With a gasp, she remembered the last thing she had said to Annie, which was, "Oh my", the authors favorite silly expression for making mini-cliffys at the end of chapters. Remembering the Valkyrie she said, "Annie, I'm afraid I must correct your most excellent, precise, and accurate; yet out of date impression of me with respect to your cousin."

Annie stirred, and said, "I know Liz. You're in love with him. I figured the whole thing out. I'm smarter than people think you know, although I suspect a blind goat would've been able to detect your newfound fondness for him."

Elizabeth's relief was palpable. She really did desire Anne's good opinion, and was not particularly looking forward to correcting her… and besides, she loved the bad-ass Anne drew and wanted to be her.

"Annie, do you think you could draw the same thing with somebody else under the hammer?"

"At the moment Lizzy, I'm fairly inclined to draw my mother under the hammer."

"What ever for?"

"I'll explain later. We need to get ready for breakfast, because I think Baby Bear (she couldn't keep the smirk out of her voice when she said the pet name), will be here shortly. We can discuss it once we're together."

"Will we be discussing Jimmy too… and by the way, what's _his_ pet name?"

Anne at least had the decency to look chagrined.

The ladies got up, used the overly rustic facilities and started preparing to dress. Lizzy was intrigued by Annie's amazing thoughtfulness in being prepared to ride a horse the previous day. "If you knew we were going to be abducted by pirates Annie, you might've told me to get some padding myself."

Annie had to laugh. "No, no, Lizzy. I actually wear these all the time. It makes me look somewhat less pale and sickly."

This made Lizzy feel guilty about her original comments to Maria, and she started to explain, but Annie would have none of it. "That's all in the past Lizzy. Let's not beat it to death. We're to be cousins after all."

"I think sisters. I don't know how to deal with cousins, but I'm an expert on sisters."

"Sisters it is! You know you're getting another with Georgiana don't you."

"Once you get past four, it's pretty much all the same."

With that bit of wisdom, they prepared for breakfast.

Dressing properly in a pirate's cabin hidden in the woods was not as ideal as you might hope for. They had to wear the same clothes from yesterday, which were already dirty, dusty, sweaty, horsey (is that even a word?) and altogether unpleasant. Then to top it all off, Lizzy had to sneak out the window and stalk quietly across the yard to find a lavender bush; which she then had to beat between two rocks and rub all over herself to get her characteristic sent that apparently drove all of the Darcy boys wild. Then she had to do something with her hair, which was quite wild. The remedy apparently involved some combination of pins, ribbons and bonnets, but Jane never adequately explained the technical details.

They were just barely cleaned, corseted, coiffed, scented, padded and dressed appropriately when a knock on the door got their attention, and Mr. Darcy was ushered into the room. It might've been considered a breach of propriety, but the highwaymen didn't seem to be all that discerning in that area. Perhaps Jimmy would improve his manners after he was married to Annie.

Darcy rushed to his betrothed quickly, but then became a little bit shy, as he was trying to determine whether she was going to kiss him or bash his head in with a rock. Since there was a convenient rock in the corner of the room, unaccountably covered in lavender, he thought it best to be cautious, but it was tough with her scent of lavender driving him mad.

Feeling somewhat bad about her capriciousness of the previous day, Elizabeth set about easing his mind. This naturally involved standing on tippy toes so she could give him a good kiss on the lips, followed by a bout of tickling him until he practically fell over. This apparently was an acceptable apology, although slightly embarrassing to Anne. As these things go, one kiss and one tickle led to a second kiss and a second tickle, and Elizabeth became quite content with her lot and her betrothed. She was even feeling good enough to preemptively remove Thor from the doghouse, which given the relative sizes of horses and doghouses was probably for the best.

"If you two could tone it down a little bit, we have many things to discuss."

The two lovers settled down, although just barely. They still couldn't resist a little bit of giggling, and a few deep looks of instinctive understanding.

Anne immediately took charge, by explaining exactly all that she had figured out in the night. She explained her careful reasoning about how her mother had set the highwaymen upon her to prevent their elopement, and then explained in detail the letters she had sent the previous evening via the ever-handsome Jimmy.

"Anne, if your mother finds out that William is actually betrothed to me, I suspect she'll be crazy mad enough to crawl into the doghouse with Thor."

"You let Thor out of the doghouse, remember?"

"Quite right. That's good. Anne, you can tell your mother it's all hers."

Elizabeth asked many questions about her reasoning, and about what instruction she had put in her letters. Once she was sure that she understood it all, she asked Annie one simple question,.

"Anne, If your mother hired the highwaymen, why did she tell them to escort you back to Rosings? Wouldn't she have a wanted you to go to Scotland and proceed with the wedding?"

"Oh dear"


	17. Roles and Responsibilities

_A/N: Everyone's guessing at which Bennet girl went with Fitz. This chapter will at least narrow the field ;) I'm in Sydney working now, so might get another chapter late tonight if I can._

* * *

After the moderately unusual start of her visit, Georgiana found fitting into life at Longbourn to be surprisingly easy. With five daughters in the house, most of the inhabitants thought one more or less to be of little note, and to be honest, with some of the daughters missing it wasn't certain that they all could keep exact count anyway.

All that was expected of Georgina was for her to encompass some of the nobler (or at least more notable) attributes of other Bennet sisters. She was expected to be beautiful and serene, able to think the best about everyone and everything, and to take all that happened with absolute grace and decorum. Since she was living in a dream world free of her nitpicky brother with his glowering stares and her companion with her excessive demands for _accomplishments;_ she hated that word… it wasn't an accomplishment if you were doing it by rote for nothing but entertainment or entrapment. It was difficult to think of anything happening in Longbourn that could affect her countenance, and as for beauty… well, she thought she could hold her own. In fact, she thought she was at least marginally more than tolerable, so she was quite content.

She was expected to be a great walker (and possibly tree-climber, but that requirement was ambiguous), so she got up every morning to wander the lanes of Longbourn. Her brother always went on and on about the untamed beauty of Derbyshire, but as far as she was concerned, that just meant a lot of hills. Up and down and up and down and up… it was exhausting. She could walk around Longbourn all day long and half the night without the least effort.

She was also supposed to play the pianoforte adequately, and apparently, the standards for 'adequate' were quite low, so was quite happy to get her practice hours cut down to practically nil, and was surprised then the others in the house went running whenever she sat down to play.

She was expected to be well-read… very well read. This turned out to be much easier than expected. When she went into Mr. Bennet's library to spend the day with him, she found _Sense and Sensibility_ embedded in the cover of Plutarch. This kind of well-read she could deal with. She also had to stereotypically play chess with Mr. Bennet just to show that girls could be clever, but having played with Fitzwilliam, she knew that all he required was for her to let him win about half the time. The only hard part of that was keeping track of wins and losses so she didn't accidentally exceed her fifty percent quota, so she did that by scratching marks on Cicero with a dagger.

She was expected to be able to quote from Fordyce's Sermons, but since nobody ever paid the slightest attention to those, she found quoting random passages from Jane Austin or Emma Brunton just as effective.

"Mama, Lydia has stolen my new bonnet."

"That's because I look so much better in it. Your coloring is all wrong for that bonnet."

 _"But to appear happy when I am so miserable-oh! who can require it?"_

"Mama, I wish to go to Meryton to talk with the officers."

 _"She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions"_

As for Kitty and Lydia; well neither of them actually had any redeeming characteristics, so she need not emulate them. One Lydia would be more than sufficient, and there were basically two, so there was quite a surfeit of Lydia-like behavior and nobody thought to chastise Georgiana for missing out on that one.

All in all, she was quite happy as a Bennet sister. No Companion! No Snippy Brother! No hours of practice on the pianoforte just to escape her cousin. Yes, this place was _entirely_ satisfactory, and she couldn't wait to meet her other new sisters when they returned from Scotland.

Walking the paths of Longbourn, in her new companion-free existence, gave her lots of time to think about her life and what she wanted from it. While she was quite enjoying her time at Longbourn, she had to think about the future. She really was quite fatigued with the role of _tragic backstory..._ I mean come on… Tried to elope with Wickham... brother forgives all… Very accomplished… Hates Caroline Bingley but too shy to call her an unladylike name… Not a particularly interesting story. _So what did she want her story to be?_

Maybe she could be the _hero_. Yes, yes. The hero! Now that would be something. But… on second thought heroes always had to encounter difficulties, unpleasantness, villains; and to be a really proper hero, one had to suffer quite a lot. The more suffering, the better the hero. When she thought about it from that perspective, it seemed that really the hero's role belonged to Lizzy, or maybe Anne or Jane, or when you get right down to the suffering aspect, anyone who was not Georgiana Bennet. She really wasn't made for suffering. The rewards didn't seem worth the effort.

Maybe she could play the _sidekick_! Oh yes, that would do. The sidekick! How well that sounded. You got to go on all the adventures with the hero, but never had to make any real decisions; just inject witty dialog from time to time, or chastise the hero for their latest stupidity. Yes, sidekick was good! But… on second thought, it seemed likely that her cousin Anne probably already had that role locked down, and to be truthful, the sidekick usually had to endure all of the aforementioned unpleasantness, _plus_ they had to endure the company of the hero. So all the unpleasantness with none of the credit. No Thank You! On second thought, the sidekick would not do it all.

 _Maybe she could be the plucky comic relief!_ Everybody loved the comic relief, and everything they did that was just stupid somehow came out funny. Nobody really expected them to accomplish anything but deliver a few laughs to lighten up the heavy drama. Yes, plucky comic relief would do! But… On second thought, Aloysius definitely had a lock on that role. Besides that, an instant switch from tragic backstory to comic relief might be just too much of a stretch, although the comic relief frequently required a tragic backstory. Too bad she wasn't as inherently ridiculous as Aloysius.

What to do… What to do… What to do… Which role do I play?

Georgiana was so entranced with the impressiveness of her thinking, that she walked headlong, full tilt, smack dab into one of the hedgerows her mother was so obsessed with. Ouch!

She bounced back from the hedgerow and fell flat on her unpadded bottom. She lay on the ground stunned for a moment, and even more surprised she found that she had lost her memory entirely. She could not remember who she was, where she was, or the first thing about the hedgerow in front of her. She sat up and looked around in confusion, trying to spot the required handsome gentleman, or horse, or handsome gentleman on a handsome horse, or sympathetic neighbor, or distressed sister. Finding none of the aforementioned available, she thought, _'No… Can't play the amnesiac either'._

Dissatisfied with all of her choices, she sat stood back up and prepared to go on her way, when she heard some voices from the other side of the hedgerow. She instinctively (for instinct always goes in this type of story) knew that her sister Lizzy would probably say that those who eavesdrop get what they deserve, although the eavesdropping generally helps advance the story. She actually had no qualms whatsoever about eavesdropping, as was appropriate for the daughter of Fanny Bennet.

She listened carefully to the words coming through the hedgerow, and everything became clear to her all at once. _She was the unexpected catalyst!_ This overheard conversation could change everything. She must immediately run about, find other useful characters, engage in unexpected activities and somehow change the entire story. Yes, Georgiana Darcy had a meeting with fate… and she expected to keep it!

Without a backward glance, she set off running as if chased by Elizabeth Bennet herself in the direction of Netherfield.


	18. On the Road Again

_A/N: Still in Sydney, and I wrote this chapter over dinner._

* * *

 _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be_ an amiable and gullible doormat of little common sense or character, willing to follow almost any direction from anybody, especially taller and richer men (whether handsome or are not – Jane was never very clear on that score).

"Bingley, I think you should become a gentleman. You should lease an estate to learn how to handle it. Do it somewhere far from Derbyshire, so if you completely stuff it up none of my neighbors will know about it. "

"Excellent idea Darcy, I know the perfect place in Hertfordshire."

"Bingley, _You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."_

"On it, Darcy! Enjoy your sulk. She's prettier than you are anyway, and I suspect if you actually did dance with Miss Elizabeth, she would probably bash your head in with a rock eventually. I suspect that's how she makes that intoxicating scent in the first place. Probably safest if you avoid her entirely."

"Bingley, you should insist that Jane Bennet stay in your house for a week even though all she has is a trifling cold, and if she has something worse she'll probably kill your entire household, because I'm bored and want to tease Miss Elizabeth."

"Your wish is my command! Best idea ever! Well, not as good as an idea where I saw Miss Jane instead of you seeing Miss Elizabeth, but I'll go along."

"Bingley, you should call on Longbourn pretty much every day so Miss Bennet will have no doubt you're about to propose."

"Capital Idea, Darcy! I'll comply immediately."

"Bingley, Jane Bennet does not love you. You should abandon her, and while you're at it have your sister write her a nasty letter, implying you're now calling on my underage sister."

"Consider it done"

"Bingley, I'm going to visit my Aunt Catherine. You should come along."

"Whoa! Darcy, I may be amiable and gullible, but I do have my limits. Visit Lady Catherine and her oily little parson… You must be mad! There won't be a single person there fit to talk to, and not a pretty girl for leagues. No thank you! I will be perfectly content here with my sisters."

 _"Mr. Bingley Sir!_ _My sister, Jane Bennet loves you_ _! At least she did before you spinelessly abandoned her. Go to Gracechurch Street and do some groveling (a lot of groveling)."_

"Let the groveling commence!"

Another truth, universally acknowledged is that Medline Gardiner is a bad ass, and usually the smartest person in the room. At about the same time that Bingley was reading his letter from Elizabeth, Jane was reading her own letter. She showed it to her aunt who read it, handed it back so Jane can read it again, took it back and read it again, and then the two women looked each other with a nod of deep and sympathetic understanding; and shouted at exactly the same time, "Road Trip!"

The hapless Mr. Bingley was forgotten almost immediately, as the ladies engaged in various types of hustling and bustling. Before Mr. Bingley had time to call (what with him needing a bath, a shave, clean clothes, different clean clothes, yet different clean clothes, a new valet, even different clean clothes; and to get rid of his sisters), Jane and Mrs. Gardiner were long gone on the road to Scotland.

Mr. Gardiner's business prevented him from leaving, but he didn't really mind. His children had a perfectly acceptable governess, and he had a perfectly acceptable store of brandy. All was right with the world and his wife and niece would return eventually.

Mr. Gardiner was just sitting down to the aforementioned brandy (which we should mention was decidedly better than our hapless couple had in Chapter 1) when he had a caller. Mr. Gardiner hated callers. For all he knew, he would have to be polite to whoever it was, and he really couldn't be bothered.

He opened the door to find some kind of overdressed and extremely nervous dandy, who he suspected must be the ever annoying Mr. Bingley. He had had quite enough of Jane's moping around the last four months, and he suspected if he exposed Mr. Bingley to his wife, she would probably bash his head in with the rock. Or, maybe Jane would, but either way his head was definitely in jeopardy. Bashing a gentleman's head in would definitely impact his business, but it was anybody's guess whether the effect would be positive or negative. There was a certain amount of disapprobation for murderers, which could make people avoid him; but on the other hand, it _would_ get an awful lot of attention, which might help sales. Now if one of his nieces would thump that Darcy fellow, _that_ would be good for business! But Bingley? He was marginal at best, and he did still have his brandy waiting.

Mr. Bingley had the look of a wet behind the ears pup, mostly because the author ran out of non-dog analogies, and he asked anxiously after Mr. Gardiner's niece Jane. Mr. Gardiner applied his considerable business acumen, common sense and conflict avoidance to give the answer best calculated to get rid of him with the least fuss.

"She's gone back to Hertfordshire. I suggest you seek her out at Longbourn."

There! Problem Solved! An hour or two in his sister's company would be enough to send Mr. Bingley scurrying back to wherever he came from, with no real fuss or bother for Mr. Gardiner.

With that, Mr. Bingley ran off towards his carriage shouting for his roster, whatever that was, and Mr. Gardiner returned to his brandy.

Meanwhile, Jane and her aunt were in the coach on the way to Scotland, and having a very serious conversation about logistics. It turned out, that Scotland was a very big place, and Lizzy had been frustratingly non-specific about _exactly_ where they were going. Gretna Green was the traditional location, since they had a little cottage industry going with clandestine elopements. In fact, it was a matter of some debate how many people lived in the town just because their horse threw a shoe, and not a single blacksmith knew how to fix it. That didn't cause as much inconvenience as you might think, since the enterprising Scotsmen kept a convenient supply of bonny lasses to hand, so any hapless traveler who _did_ stop with a lame horse would find himself married in no time, and all was well.

So Gretna Green? Here was where things became troublesome. Mr. Darcy was very rich, and there was a good chance he owned an estate or two in Scotland. For all they knew, he owned all of Scotland and it would be renamed Darcyville as soon as the maps could be updated, so actually finding them might be problematic. It wouldn't do to bring Jane into Gretna Green unaccompanied, what with the chance of some random passerby throwing a shoe. Jane really did not want to end up married to some random blacksmith or horseless gentleman.

Naturally, the smartest person in the room could always be counted on to come up with the obvious answer. You had to talk to the second smartest person in the room, so the first stop had to be with Charlotte Collins. Once they figured that out, they set off with complete confidence to Rosings.

The ladies knew that they were at least a full day behind the happy couple, maybe even two. However, they were not at all concerned, as there was not the slightest chance that Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet would make a four day trip without having some kind of explosion that would slow them down, or running into some other difficulty. They both attracted trouble, so all Jane and Madeline need do was go to Rosings, get direction from Charlotte and they would catch up in no time. They would probably even beat the couple to wherever they were going without difficulty.

Maybe Charlotte would even go with them! Who would pass up a free trip to Scotland? Certainly nobody in their right mind, so it was to be a threesome. A merry time was definitely in store for the Gardiner/Bennet/Collins ladies, if they could just somehow leave Charlotte's husband behind. Since they had already successfully abandoned one husband, how hard could it be with the other? All they need do was send him off to discuss next Sunday's sermon with Lady Catherine, and abscond with the missus while he was gone.

The Gardiner coach was a very fine coach, and the Gardiner horses were very fine horses so they made very good time to Rosings. They arrived at the lane between the parsonage and Rosings, and were quite surprised to see a large group of men on horses. They looked like highwaymen, except for one who unaccountably had a parrot on his shoulder. He stepped up to the carriage and said, "Ladies, I'm afraid you'll have to accompany me."

"Oh dear"


	19. The Other Sister

Charles Bingley was not a tower of intellect by any measure. He was not clever like his friend Darcy, or his former friend Miss Elizabeth; not by any stretch of the imagination. You might not even be able to hold his own against Miss Mary, but he was pretty sure he could win a battle of wits at least half of the time with Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty, although if she insisted on being called Catherine, he would probably be unnerved and be lucky to win two out of ten.

He had been sitting in Netherfield Park for a week, and was bored out of his skull. He kept replaying his multiple visits to Longbourn over and over, since he didn't have Darcy to drink with, didn't have either of his sisters to snipe at him and didn't even have Hurst to drink or shoot with. Every visit went something like the first.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bennet"

"Good morning, Mr. Bingham. I assume you must be here to call on my Lizzy today? Do tell me what first attracted you to her. Was it her gorgeous brunette hair, or possibly her lavender scent, or her amazing ability to climb trees? Do tell Sir!"

"Actually, Mrs. Bennet, I'm here to call on Miss Jane, and she has blonde hair."

"Oh yes yes, the blonde one. Now it all makes sense. Lizzy's actually on her way to Scotland to be married over the anvil. Tell me Mr. Bingley, do you actually know what an anvil is?"

"I'm not sure Mrs. Bennet. I think it's something to do with blacksmiths, but I'm afraid blacksmithing was not part of my education."

"And well it should not. You know that blacksmiths are big, burly, ugly, musclebound, frightening, handsome looking men. I don't believe Sir that you could approach any of those attributes."

"Quite right, Mrs. Bennet. I am a man of leisure, and don't have quite so much need for being big, burly or musclebound."

"Or handsome either. Just as well I suppose, since everybody knows you're a whelp still."

"Mrs. Bennet, I would rather you not refer to me as such."

"My apologies Mr. Bingham. I'm simply repeating what my blonde haired daughter said. You did say you are after the blonde one, correct?"

"Yes ma'am, I am definitely after the blonde one. The whip smart, brunette haired, _Great Walker_ and _Tree Climber_ sister is on her way to Scotland to be married over the still somewhat confusing anvil, by the big burly blacksmith in a few days time I believe."

"Well, since you're not going to Scotland… Say, why aren't you going to Scotland?"

"Well to be honest Mrs. Bennet, I was hoping to go to Scotland with your blonde daughter."

"Ahhh! The blonde one. And you think she wants to go to Scotland with you?"

"I'm not sure Mrs. Bennet. I would grovel and ask her, but she seems to be avoiding me."

"And well she should, after you slighted or at the assembly."

"I think you're confusing me with my friend Darcy. He slighted your daughter Miss Elizabeth at the Meryton assembly. I danced with your daughter Miss Jane. It all worked out surprisingly well for Darcy and Miss Elizabeth in the end, so I've been considering plying Miss Jane with brandy before proposing."

"Oh yes, now I remember. You're the spineless whelp who abandoned her after two months. Would you like to come in for tea? Or brandy perhaps?"

"Might I actually be able to converse with your blonde haired daughter ma'am?"

"Oh, she's out wondering about the woods, or climbing trees, or something similar. She'll be back presently."

"Could you be more… er… specific about her return?"

"Oh I'm sure she'll be back today, or tomorrow, or by by Sunday for certain."

"Might I call here tomorrow to see if she has returned?"

"Of course dear of course. You may do so if you will go by Mrs. Long's and sneak away some of her orange treacle. I really like my treacle."

Something like this went on every day for a week. Sometimes, Mrs. Bennet would say that the blonde daughter was practicing the pianoforte. This confused Bingley a little bit, because he did not remember his Jane played the pianoforte and the quality od play seem to be better than any he had ever heard at Longbourn. He was most mystified by it, and naturally did what he always did when he was mystified… He just quit thinking about it.

In between visits to Longbourn, he was absolutely, unequivocally alone at Netherfield… well, except for the 30 servants that worked there but they had the uncanny ability to remain nearly invisible. They seemed to be able to hear him coming, and just be elsewhere. It was scary sometimes. One day though, he had a little excitement when he left his rooms wearing his very fine new orange hunting jacket, which was, according to Caroline, all the rage in town. He left his rooms quietly enough to surprise two maids walking down the hall, and as soon as they saw the orange color, they screamed, dropped what they were carrying and ran down the hall. This was most unusual. It was like a bullfighter, except they ran away from the bright colors instead of towards them. He amused himself for some days making up other costumes to test the theory, and it seemed that only orange did the trick. Red, green, brown, were all perfectly safe. It was just orange that would produce the reaction, but it was quite reliable. This was his only mental exercise for a whole week, and even his limited intellect was suffering from lack of exercise.

After a week, he begun to believe that his Jane was avoiding him. Of course, calling her "his Jane" after he had broken her heart, abandoned her, and left her to the mercies of his sisters was probably a bit of a stretch, but Charles Bingley had a stubborn streak. It wasn't actually stubborn enough to produce any real results in the world, but he was stubborn enough to keep saying the words that gave him comfort in his own mind. Mentally discipline… That's what he was.

After a full week of visiting Longbourn every day, only to be plied with various amounts of tea, orange treacle (which was growing on him), brandy, port or chess he was just about out of things to do. He had even tried reading a little bit of Plutarch with Mr. Bennet, only to find a copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ tucked inside. He vacillated between being insulted and being delighted, and soon settled on the easiest path of being asleep with the book open on his belly. He looked just like Hurst, and he momentarily wondered if Hurst habitually read novels.

Bingley was out in the yard playing with Darcy's dog, which really just served as a prop to keep Bingley in the yard for the next scene. He was astounded to look up with a sense of déjà vu to relive a sort of dream sequence from the one true 1995 BBC miniseries.

 _Georgianna climbs over a stile and hops into a patch of mud, or what would've been mud in the winter but is now just a little bit slushy. She makes a "Well? Oh, well." Expression and wipes her feet and continues walking. She walks around a tree in sight of Netherfield, and meets Bingley, who happens to be strolling her way. Bingley is startled._

 _"Miss Bennet"_

 _"Mr Bingley"_

 _[Georgianna curtsies saucily.]_

 _Georgianna: I am come to inquire after your sister._

 _On foot?_

 _As you see. Would you be so kind as to take me some place where I will_ _not_ _encounter her?_

 _Still amused, Bingley motions for her to join him walking back to the house._

Bingley eventually came to his senses, and realized that this was the long lost _Blonde Bennet Sister_ who had been avoiding him for a week.

"Miss Bennet, I've been seeking you at Longbourn this last week."

"Mr. Bingley. You do realize I'm not _technically_ Miss Bennet. I'm Georgiana Darcy and you've known me these five years at least."

Things slowly began to make sense to Bingley.

"So, you're the mysterious Blonde Bennet daughter."

"Probably"

"The great walker?"

"I do walk a great deal. I'm expected to make up for Miss Elizabeth's lack."

"The pianoforte player"

"Really, Mr. Bingley. You've heard me play many times. I have to play the pianoforte to make up for Miss Mary's absence."

"Miss Mary is missing."

"You really aren't very well informed Mr. Bingley. Everyone knows, Miss Mary is on her way to Scotland to marry my cousin Aloysius."

"I heard rumors, but they said it was the 'most beautiful Bennet sister'. That's traditionally been Miss Jane."

"I can't say. I've never met Miss Jane, but Mary is quite lovely and my cousin was certainly taken with her. He compared her to the finest sword, or something like that. I confess, I wasn't really listening."

"So Miss Jane is not at Longbourn?"

"I'm afraid not."

"So you're the mysterious Blonde Bennet?"

"I believe we've covered that already?"

"And you walked here from Longbourn?"

"Really, Mr. Bingley… haven't you read canon. Three miles is nothing for the hardy Bennet girls."

"Extraordinary"

"Not particularly. You're just fat and lazy since you ride everywhere you go… You and my brother both."

"So, if Miss Jane isn't in Longbourn, where is she?"

"Probably on her way to Scotland like everyone else."

"To get married"

"Presumably"

"Without me?"

"As you see"

"You're not on the way to Scotland."

"Oh yes. You quite distracted me with all of your interrogations. I came here to tell you that right after my brief trial of the _amnesiac_ role, I decided to try out for _unexpected catalyst_. This naturally required me to overhear a dastardly and evil plot that may end civilization as we know it, and I came here directly to engage your assistance. I will naturally hold the details of the conversation to build suspense."

"Ah, I see that at least you recognize my worth. _Set me a task Miss Darcy_.  Lay Down the Gauntlet. Put my shoulder to the wheel. I am at your disposal, and I shall not disappoint. No matter the difficulties, I shall persevere."

"Actually, Mr. Bingley, I just came here to borrow your coach since my cousin took mine."

"Oh"

"So sorry"

"Miss Darcy! My coaches come with my assistance. You must accept both or neither."

"Very well Mr. Bingley. Can we leave straightaway? There's not a moment to lose."

"No clean clothes?"

"No"

"No gathering my sisters."

"Definitely not!"

"No tea?"

"I'm afraid not"

"Treacle?"

"Mrs. Longs?"

"Is there any other?"

"Very well, Tea, Treacle and then we're off."

"Tally ho"

"One more thing, Mr. Bingley"

"Pray, continue"

"We will apparently be opposing forty or fifty armed men, so we may need strength in numbers. We shall have to stop at Longbourn on the way and bring my other sisters Kitty and Lydia."

Mr. Bingley did not say 'Oh dear' because that would be unmanly (even though I'm a male author and have no trouble with it), but he _did_ think it. Fifty men indeed! Maybe he could get some role other than _hapless sidekick._

* * *

 _A/N: That's it gang, all the little duckies are in play, and nearly everyone has already guessed the mysterious Bennet sister._


	20. Bears and Bulls

_A/N: Hey gang, just back from Sydney so I'll drop two short chapters today. We're getting into the home stretch. Last weekend this story passed 50,000 views which is very exciting, and I want to personally thank everyone for reading, faving and reviewing. [End shameless bragging and pandering].  
_

* * *

Elizabeth Bennet was starving to death… WAIT!... Can't start the chapter like that. Way too many death analogies leading previous chapters. No, this would not do at all... try again.

Lizzy Bennet was frustratingly hungry since breakfast had been mentioned four chapters back and then the story got sidetracked into bashing flowers, bashing heads, bashing Bingley's, and bashing in general that went way past its shelf life… NO! NO! NO! NO! Already been way too many references to bashing, whether of the rock or head variety for comfort, and to be candid, a few too many self-referencing fourth wall violations… try again.

Liz Bennet was a particularly hungry wolf after a week in the pirate cabin… WAIT! Once again, _animals_ and _pirates_ … Is there no meme this author won't beat to death… Death! DEATH! ARGHH….. AAAARERRREGGGGGHHHH!

[DEEP PAUSE]

[HHHAAAA]

[BREEEAAAATTTTHHHHH]

[HA]

In and Out. In and Out! Ahhh. Better.

Ok, Bucko try again.

Wait a minute! The whole premise is wrong. No wonder it didn't work. [Delete this rubbish before posting]

* * *

After nearly a week in the highwaymen's cabin in the woods, Lizzy Bennet really was neither as hungry as you might think, nor as dissatisfied with the situation.

Every morning, her own personal bear came to the room to escort her to breakfast, and the dialog went something like this.

"Good morning, Baby Bear. How are you this morning?"

…..

"You misunderstand my love. I didn't ask for a kiss. I asked how you were doing."

…..

"Once again, you're not attending, sir. I didn't ask for a hug or to be swung about the room, or yet another kiss. Can't you answer a simple question?"

…

…

"Well, I guess that answers it. I don't really need to know all the details of your current condition. This kissing actually has much to recommend…"

….

Well, now that you mention it there are no pressing issues preventing a little snuggling for just a few minutes…

That was pretty much it. This would go on for hours, and eventually they just ate the food that Anne left on the table.

As for Anne, she was an excellent chaperone, as long as you considered _excellent_ and _terrible_ to be synonyms. The problem with Anne is that Jolly Rogers didn't trust her. He didn't trust her a bit, and he was actually a little afraid of her. Every time he talked to her she said something he didn't understand (admittedly not that high of a bar), and he became a little paranoid that his ogre of a boss would stuff him like a parrot if he let any of his prisoners escape; and they had quite enough stuffed parrots, thank you very much. He was also afraid she might sketch him, because it had been said that her sketches always came true.

On the other hand, his real boss was preternaturally frightening, so he eventually became so worried he assigned his best man to guard the de Bourgh girl. Most of his men were also afraid of Anne for some reason, but not his _best and most ruthless cutthroat_. He was afraid of nobody and nothing, but he was a cautious man. If a job was to be done, it must be done well. He obviously couldn't _properly_ guard her from a distance… these heiresses were tricky, so taking no chances he spent all day every day with her. No Sir! He was not a man to take chances. Anne de Bourgh was no way no how going to escape from Jimmy the Pirateman.

Surprisingly, Anne made a lot less fuss and effort to escape the company of the bloodthirsty highwayman than you might think. He was after all quite handsome, and he sat his horse well, and he had managed to mostly keep his hands to himself during their long ride to the cabin, so he was either a gentleman or somewhat timid; and Anne could work with either. No, Annie was not really all that dissatisfied with the delay, and the bear and the wolf seemed much too preoccupied to worry about all that much of anything. She still did have some time to talk to Lizzy, as there was a limit on how much actual snuggling could take place, regardless of how much romance story time dilation you applied.

Anne even tried to draw Lizzy's character again, but no matter how she started out, she always ended up with a hammer in her hand. All that changed was the victim. It was either amazingly accurate, or Annie wasn't able to change her first impressions. Liz seemed to have gotten over her inability to move past initial sketches though, so Annie had some hope she eventually would as well. Liz certainly didn't seem so fierce, so she must have it all wrong.

After a few more days, it _finally_ became necessary for all the assorted animals, artists and cutthroats to sit down for a civilized breakfast in the breakfast room at the insistence of the Dread Pirate Rogers, who wanted to show that he was a gentleman, and gentlemen set a good table… Well, when you get right down to it, it was traditionally the lady of the house's job to set a good table, but Rogers was short on ladies at the moment, so he had to take up the yoke himself. It should also be noted, that just like Mrs. Bennet, you had to define _set a fine table_ as sitting around whingeing (whining for Americans but this is a regency tale) about nerves and fluttering and spasms and such, while the servants did all of the _actual_ work, but we all conveniently ignore the servants like NGPs, don't we. So, Jolly Roger decided that  all of his guests were to meet his boss at breakfast for the all important big reveal.

Liz had made some Rose Water for Anne, and of course she still had her rock handy for her own scent, so on their seventh day in the cabin, they got coiffed, etc& and headed off to get a proper breakfast with their respective handsome suitors/captors/admirers/tormentors.

They all met in the foyer outside of the breakfast room before entering to join the others. Over the week, most of the party of intimates had acquired the habit of suffixing all greetings with parenthetical side thoughts that increased their own amusement without unduly affecting courtesy, except when they slipped and said the thoughts aloud.

"Good morning, Fitzwilliam" _(Lovesick blockhead)_

"Good morning, Anne" ( _Bad ass)_

"Good morning, Annie" _(Why is she so flushed)_

"Good morning, Lizzy" _(Wonder if she knows about Jimmy)_

"Good morning Mr. Mason" _(Yowser… he's red as a bee)_

"Please call me Jimmy Miss Elizabeth. You know I hate formality." _(She's onto me)_

Upon entering the breakfast room, the party noticed that Jolly Rogers did in fact set a good table. They had scones and blueberries and cream and bacon and eggs and tea and sugar and biscuits and honey and…

 **"COFFEE!"**

With such a spread, and a week of getting along mostly on smuggling and affection (which, while _very nice_ , didn't offer much sustenance), our happy couple moved straight toward the sideboard. They were so engrossed in the feast before them, that they didn't notice who was sitting at the table. It took someone clearing their throat loudly to get their attention, and force them back towards civility.

"Lady Catherine! What are you doing here?" _(Great, there goes all the fun in life)_

"Aunt Catherine. What an unexpected surprise. ( _Gotta bribe Jimmy to take her back to Rosings… or maybe Australia or America. Wonder which is farther away?)_

" **JANE!** "… " **AUNT GARDINER!** "

Lizzy lost all sense of decorum and forgot all about Baby Bear's Bad Aunt, and ran to the end of the table to hug and kiss and dance around with her two favorite non-bear people in the world.

"What are you doing here?" _(And where are your menfolk?)_

"We came for the wedding and were detained by these gentlemen." _(Damn… looks like Anne beat me to Jimmy)_

Elizabeth gave Jimmy a bit of the stink-eye, but he just shrugged his shoulders. While Jimmy was quite happy with his current guarding assignment, it never hurt to have a spare, and Madeline Gardiner was a fine looking woman. He supposed the young blonde one would do in a pinch as well, but either way, leaving them wandering around the countryside unsupervised seemed ill advised, so he had brought them along.

Jimmy wasn't quite as sanguine with this operation as he had been originally. A little bit of highwaymanery sounded like quite a lark in the beginning, but every day they were stuck in the forest more men showed up, and he was nowhere near as happy with the new recruits as his mates he'd been with the entire time. The new ruffians were quite a terrible looking lot, and didn't appear trustworthy in the least… and why did they need 40 men for this simple job. No, there was something afoot here and Jimmy wasn't all that sure whose side he would be on if things got unpleasant. Of course, in the meantime, guarding his Little Annie wasn't all that terrible of a job, despite the fact that he would get teased mercilessly in the bunkhouse if he ever let that name escape his lips, and he shuddered to think what would happen if she ever sketched him. He was a little superstitious, and thought if she drew him in a coffin or at a wedding, his fate would be sealed.

The tableau was nearly complete, when Liz noticed her _Bear_ acting more like a _Bull_. He started snorting, and pawing his feet, and reaching for a weapon, or scratching his head looking for horns… because he was definitely ready to charge something and kill it. The bull's target was more orange than the traditional red, but still equally charge worthy.

"Miss Bingley. Wickham. What an unpleasant surprise!"


	21. The Best of Flasks

_A/N: Hey gang. This chapter makes this story officially a novel (with 40,000 words being the usual definition), so thanks so much for reading._

* * *

Charles Bingley was enjoying a fine ride atop his coach with the coachman. Now this wasn't his normal practice, but desperate times and all that. He'd been cooped up in the coach with Miss Lydia Bennet for several hours, and he just couldn't take any more. Every man has limits, no matter how amiable he may be, and Charles Bingley had reached his. Miss Darcy was perfectly lovely and easy to get along with, but her Bennet sisters were insufferable. He had tried everything. Talk of the weather, talk of the roads, talk of town, talk of his family, talk of parties, dances, politics all to no avail. Nothing could dislodge Miss Lydia from talk of lace, or balls, or bonnets or more lace and more balls and ribbons and more bonnets and red coats and more lace and more red coats and… It was exhausting. Her voice was something like a cross between a cat being mauled and a schoolboy scraping chalkboards with his fingers. He finally crawled out the window without even stopping, climbed hand-over hand up the side of the coach to the top, to sit with the roster.

The coachman even had a hip flask, so in no time at all, Charles Bingley was completely happy with his lot. The footmen were surprisingly entertaining fellows, and the coachman was clearly the best of men.

He was just sharing the last of the flask and calculating where the next likely flask was when he heard the loudest and most unladylike shriek of his life. Now, keep in mind that he was brother to Caroline Bingley, so he was quite accustomed to loud shrieks, flying crockery, flying paintings, flying bracelets… well, in the end he could generalize to _flying expensive things_ , yet this shriek was at a whole new level. It scared the footmen. It scared the driver. It even scared the horses, which was momentarily a little exciting since they practically ran the coach off the road, which would have been bad. It was inconveniently timed since the driver had just handed the reigns to Bingley so he could replenish his flask from a convenient bottle he kept hidden under the seat, which would have been fine except Bingley didn't have the slightest idea how to drive a coach. The horses recovered just barely in time though so all was well.

" **Lydia Bennet! Kitty Bennet! Be silent THIS INSTANT or I am no longer our sister, and I will insure that my cousin the COLONEL will make sure you never talk to a red coat again during your natural life and half of your afterlife."**

This was surprising in several ways. First off, prior to her visit to Longbourn, Miss Darcy was the shyest and most timid girl Mr. Bingley had ever met, and it was rare to get a few words out of her, even at a normal tone of voice. Even after her that, to get a shriek that would have Out Caroline to shame was shocking. The only possible explanation was she was now emulating the more formidable side of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, which she had not had cause to do before. Also, she wasn't technically a sister, even though marriage as far as he knew; and the youngest Bennet sisters never paid the least attention even to the real eldest Bennet sisters.

All this was extraordinary enough, but that was nothing… nothing at all, compared to what came next. _Miss Lydia Bennet actually shut up, for the first time in her life_ _!_ She said nothing at all, whatsoever for the entirety of the rest of the trip to Rosings. Not a peep. Not a word. Not a sound. Not a pout. Not a whimper. This was unprecedented. Even the horses picked up their pace in a jaunty little trot.

For Charles Bingley, all was right with the world for the rest of the trip to Rosings, but he didn't get back in the coach. He wasn't brave enough to tempt fate.

When the Bingley coach arrived at Rosings, they found the most extraordinary thing. Rosings was empty and silent as a tomb. Not a single soul stirred. It was as if a great plague had wiped it out in one fell swoop… well, except for the butler, and the housekeeper, and the kitchen staff, and the gardeners, and the tenants, and… well, pretty much everyone was still there except Lady Catherine and Miss Anne.

With the utmost urgency, Bingley performed an investigation worthy of the Bow Street Runners. Well, naturally he had a bathe first, then dress for dinner, then sit down to dinner with a curiously still silent Lydia Bennet and the rest of his ragtag group. Then of course, his exertions with the hip flask finally caught up with him, he retired early. In the morning, the housekeeper was so happy to be able to set up breakfast as she pleased without hearing the shrill voice of Lady Catherine, she set a massive spread and it would have been rude to not sit down for a repast, which obviously then required a nap.

So it was that with the utmost dispatch, right at the crack of noon, Charles Bingley engaged the keenest of detective skills, and was informed by the butler that Lady Catherine, and surprisingly, another coach came in just the previous day; and both inhabitants of that coach, along with Lady Catherine were absconded by highwaymen.

Most interesting of all was the identity of the two additional ladies who had been taken. From the description of the two, he calculated that it must be none other than Madeline Gardiner and Jane Bennet.

Oh Dear. It turned out that Georgiana Darcy had been right… and come to think of it, he'd never found out what she overheard back in Meryton that set her on this path, so he must do that posthaste.

Charles was just about to convene a council of war with Miss Darcy, when he was interrupted by the most unexpected person, who proceeded to school him like a whelp.

"Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy. You took your time getting here, but you have made it so it's time for us to be away to effect a rescue mission. I assume you've probably already been apprised of the situation. Be prepared to leave within the hour and bring all the troops you have with you. I will need to know any intelligence you have gathered, but we can discuss that in the coach. Mr. Bingley, have two horses saddled to go with us, and bring all the armed footmen your aunt has under her employ, as well as Mr. Darcy's men."

With that, the new leader of the group turned around to organize the rest of the rescue mission, and Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy started herding their kittens towards the coach, with a quick bow and a proper acknowledgement to the new and much appreciated leader, "Yes, Mrs. Collins."


	22. Bulls and Wombats

_A/N: Hey gang, I'm back from Sydney. Had a bit of jet lag induced writer's block and had to discard a chapter and start over to get back on track. I also wrote a little drabble that I may or may not post. No time to answer any of the review questions, but thanks for the response and keep them coming. We're in the home stretch now._

* * *

George Wickham did not look as handsome as he formerly had. His hair had been cut half off, and he still had bits of tar and even the occasional feather stuck to various parts of his person. Instead of his previously gentleman regalia, he was wearing borrowed cast-off pants, and his uniform jacket was mussed and wrinkled. He did have the requisite angular jaw, but unfortunately for him, the angle was all wrong since his beating at the hands of the fathers of Meryton. Best of all, the large "L" tattooed across his forehead put paid forever to any claims he may have to being charming to the opposite sex. No, George Wickham would never be the handsome, charming, debonair _appearing_ man he once was again. Elizabeth was quite happy with his appearance now, as it better matched his actual character, and based on the look on her betrothed's face, it seemed unlikely to improve anytime soon.

Caroline Bingley could best be described as… Well actually, it would be best to avoid describing her altogether; but be that as it may, she was dressed something like an orange wombat. She was wearing an orange dress that would have seemed overly formal in the Queens ballroom, coupled with an orange hat with an actual stuffed bird in it. I'm not making this up! An… Actual… Stuffed… Bird. Her eyes were not as expressive as characters in romance novels usually are required to be, mainly because there wasn't really anything behind them. In fact, they didn't have any of the usual characteristics. They were not Smokey, although that would have been a good metaphor for her personality. They were obviously not bright, exercise or no. They were not one of the popular colors like brown with gold flecks, or deep loving blue. They were brown, but more along the lines of… well, best not go there else. However, she had clearly concocted this whole plan, or worked with Wickham on it, so she must be taken to task.

As you may recall, the ursine part of our happy couple had converted to taurine behavior and was pawing, snorting and practically charging across the room to confront the new adversaries. The room is curiously devoid of armed highwaymen, aside from Jimmy who seemed disinclined to interfere. In fact, Jimmy seemed to be mostly looking around for someone to take side bets on how long the half‑haired guy was going to survive, although the way Darcy was charging, it didn't look like he'd have long to place the wager. He wondered if he could get Lady Catherine into a bet. She seemed like a good sport. Before he could approach her, the bull had crossed the room and started talking.

 _"Miss Bingley. Wickham. What an unpleasant surprise!"_

Elizabeth, for her part had no real desire to charge the offensive couple. Why charge all the way across the room, when she can simply throw something? Really, she would have to talk to Baby Bear about all this charging about. She bet he could throw something quite well, as he had to engage in cricket or fenceing or shooting some other manly sport (well, actually she would have to scratch cricket from the manly sounding sports). Unfortunately, the breakfast table was heavy on scones, and light on things that were both throwable, and deadly. Obviously throwing scones or bacon would not do the job, unless she could find an entire side of bacon… now that would do the trick. It did seem unlikely that she would find a side of raw bacon in the breakfast room, no matter how deficient Pirate Rogers table might be. Worse yet, all of the jam was in prissy little fancy bowls, instead of proper jars which given adequate supplies of jam would make excellent projectile weapons. The coffee pot had certain possibilities, since you had both the weight of the pot, and the good chance of making a mass with the scalding coffee as well. Caroline would probably be as grievously injured by the black stain on her horrid orange dress as she would be by the scalding hot coffee. Yes, the coffee pot it would have to be.

Just as Darcy was approaching the horrid couple, and Elizabeth was reaching for the pot, they started talking back.

"Mr. Darcy, I'm amazed you can say such a thing to me! My brother is your dearest friend, and I have spent many pleasant days and evenings in your company."

"Come now Darcy, you're not still carrying a grudge over Georgianna are you? That was a year ago! Or maybe you're mad going all the way back to Cambridge, or maybe you're still sore that your father loved me better than you."

"Mr. Darcy, how could you object to this charming, rustic place? I know how much you love the country."

"Say Darcy, did you have anything to do with my recent reception in Meryton? I have to say, I really didn't appreciate the tar and feathers, or the haircut."

Darcy was a little surprised that they were getting to the point of whatever their nefarious scheme was. Being a gentleman, he naturally had to answer their questions, even if they were out to kill him. Manners were manners.

"I didn't actually have anything to do with your reception in Meryton, but I wish I had. I would like to thank whoever did."

Elizabeth actually giggled, and when everybody looked at her she said, "Tar and feathers. That's so perfect, and I love the haircut. It's so becoming." She did not however feel it incumbent upon her to bring him up to speed about the source of the rumors about him that precipitated the beating and tarring and haircut. She would however at some point look at him meaningfully should he ever be in the vicinity of a goat.

Getting back on track, Darcy asked, "So tell me Wickham, Miss Bingley, what is this all about? What are you up to?"

Wickham said, "Darcy, I can't believe you think I would do something so underhanded and devious."

"You mean, you're telling me you wouldn't think of doing something like this to cause me harm?"

Wickham laughed and said, "Of course I would do something like this if I could, but honestly Darcy, can you see me affording 60 men?"

Caroline added, "I can't believe you would think so poorly of me, Mr. Darcy after all the time I've spent agreeing with whatever crazy thoughts came out of your mouth and dressing in all the latest fashions just for you."

"I say Darcy, isn't that one of the Bennet chits over there laughing at me?"

The last word didn't come out as clearly as dialog purists would wish, what with Wickham being suspended a foot off the floor by his throat and held against the wall by the bear/bull, but who are we to quibble.

Wickham was wheezing in a most undignified manner, even worse than his usual; while Miss Bingley looking like a giant orange furball shrieked and clawed at him.

"Bingley… Caroline… I demand an immediate explanation. What are you about? Why have you subjected us to this, and I warn you, I will be implacable in seeking vengeance.

Wickham finally managed to move his arms around enough to pantomime that he had something to say or a question to ask, so Darcy released his throat and set him back on the ground saying, "We're not finished."

Darcy was happy that none of their highwaymen besides Jimmy were anywhere near the breakfast room. Now that he knew who was behind this debacle, he could probably bribe or fight his way out, for as pleasant as breakfast and snuggles with Elizabeth were; he strongly suspected there was much more and better to come after marriage. He had no idea what it was, but had heard it was even better than chocolate… or at least as good; at least some of the time. He really hoped Elizabeth was more up to speed on what was to be done. Perhaps her mother had instructed her properly… yes, that was it, they would rely on the wise council of Francine Bennet. He did however have to drag his attention away from the upcoming nuptials, and back to the blackguard at hand, as there was still business to be done.

Once Wickham was on the floor and able to at least temporarily breathe again, and the giant orange furball stopped screaming and scratching, Darcy asked again, "So explain yourself. What are you about here?"

Bingley looked at him, afraid of another trip up the wall, but finally had to say, "I have no idea. Three days ago, somebody bashed me in the back of the head in Meryton, and then hauled me here tied over the saddle on a mule. I don't have any more idea why we're here than you do."

 _Miss Bingley, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much she was grieved, how shocking it was to have to ride tied up over a mule, and how excessively she disliked traveling by mule herself; and then thought no more of the matter: and her indifference towards Wickham when not immediately before her restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike._

Caroline expanded, "I'm afraid I don't know either Mr. Darcy. I'm terribly mortified that you would think me vile enough to perpetrate such an act, but on the other hand, I'm quite happy that you think me capable of it. Wouldn't that show the type of skill and fortitude you need for a mistress of Pemberley? I believe I would be perfect for it had I concocted this scheme, so… yes, yes! I am the perpetrator."

"So you're the perpetrator? You can end this debacle here and now?"

Caroline sighed and said, "No, I'm as captive as you. I was abducted two days ago and brought hither in my coach. I have no idea what's going on."

These revelations let the wind out of Darcy sails. If it wasn't Caroline or Wickham, then who could it be?

"Aunt Catherine. I don't suppose this is your doing?"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy. How could you think such a thing?"

"I'm sorry Aunt. It just seems like the type of measures you might take if you were desperate, and found out I was going to Scotland to marry Elizabeth instead of Anne."

"YOU ARE NOT MARRYING ANNE! FITZWILLIAM DARCY, HOW COULD YOU?"

Once the expected outburst was complete, Lady Catherine sat back in her chair defeated. Finally, with a resigned shrug she replied, "I'm afraid it's not my doing nephew. I would quite happily abduct you to keep you from polluting the shades of Pemberley with that country nobody, with no fortune and no connections, but do you really think I could obtain 60 men on such short notice? Haven't you seen the books for Rosings? I'd have trouble paying for my parson and a mule, let alone 60 men."

"You make a good point, Aunt and I apologize for my suspicions. I should have realized you were nowhere near solvent enough to perform this heinous act. Did you say 60 men?"

"You really should pay more attention Fitzwilliam. There are at least 60."

With such a conundrum, everyone sat back in stunned silence. The world was upside down and inside out. If you could not count on Catherine de Bourgh, George Wickham or Caroline Bingley to be the villain; who could you count on? Was it to be a new character? Perhaps a repurposed role for an existing characters? This was quite a conundrum, so our bear and our wolf did the only thing they could. They had their coffee and their breakfast, while shooting daggers at Miss Bingley and Wickham, although at this point it was purely for form.

Now, the biggest mystery was who could arrange such a large party at such short notice? Elizabeth and Darcy had consumed the brandy, proposed, became engaged, wrote a stack of letters, and left Rosings all within less than a day. Who could possibly have put together such a nefarious scheme with so many men in such a short time? No, it was quite impossible… Unless… Unless… _Unless, someone already had the scheme in place_ , they were purely after Darcy and Elizabeth was just along for the ride. That might explain the long delay here in the pirate cabin. The new antagonist must have required some time to put together a new scheme, or perhaps hire more men. Just acquiring Wickham's mule could have taken hours.

Elizabeth outlined her theory to the rest of the group, and was surprised to hear a reply.

"You seem to have the right of it, Miss Bennet."

Everyone in the room gasped, and looked up to see the speaker who must be responsible for this atrocity.

"Oh, dear"


	23. Life in Colors

_A/N: You get a twofer today, as I'm recovering from my jetlag. Still not doing the big reveal, but feel free to guess the antagonist in the reviews._

* * *

Gretna Green was quite an interesting town. Like most places, the industry of the area was defined mostly by geography. In this particular case, the geography meant that it was the most convenient place for the wealthy of London to elope for clandestine marriages. The laws of Scotland allowed blacksmiths to perform marriage ceremonies over the anvil, and over time the blacksmiths of Gretna Green found that it was easier and more profitable to marry rich, gullible English gentry, then to spend all day beating on a piece of hot iron with a hammer. Occasionally penniless English beggars would come along to be married, but they were always good for a laugh and their stories returning home were good for business, so they were given every consideration as well.

Over time, the blacksmiths did less and less blacksmithing, and more and more marrying. Eventually, most of the blacksmiths got to the point where they didn't even know how to light a forge or fix a horseshoe. None of this is necessary for the marrying business, and it was especially convenient in Scotland because they didn't have to be clergymen, meaning they didn't have to go to seminary, read any of the holy books or read anything at all for that matter to perform the job. All they had to do was look like a blacksmith, and really, how hard was that? A leather apron, a bit of strategic grease on your face, a bad haircut and you were all set. It was the easiest job in the world. You could even make up the vows on the fly.

"Dearly beloved or at least endured. We are gathered here today in the sight of Shaumus MacDougal to join together this English chucklehead with this smarter than she looks and likely to rule the roost lass in the bonds of tolerable matrimony. If any man can show just cause why these two should deprive me of my marriage fee, let him speak now to Raibert McCollum down the street for about the next quarter hour, by which time it will be too late, or forever hold his peace. Amen"

You could even tell them completely ridiculous requirements and they would go along.

"You have to have iron wedding bands. They cost 10 pounds."

"Iron wedding bands for us"

"You have to have a special wedding haircut and wear a Scottish wedding hat. That will be 25 pounds."

"Bring on the hat and haircut"

"You will have to wear a kilt to be married properly under Scottish law"

"Bring out the skirt"

See, so easy!

The town eventually got to the point where any hapless Englishmen who happened to lose a horseshoe, would be quickly hustled off and married to one of the bonnie lasses who are kept at hand just for that purpose. No one actually knew how many people lived in the town because they liked it, and how many lived there just because their horse had a mishap on the way through. However, since the lasses were in fact quite nice, and Scotland maintained a very good supply of whiskey, nobody really had any reason to repine.

A small group of runners would take care of any actual blacksmithing that had to be done. If you had a lame horse, they would take them up to Gretna Black, where they had actual farriers, blacksmiths and all the other craftsmen of a normal town whose economy was _not_ based on elopements. If you needed a wagon wheel repaired, then Gretna Red was your town of choice. Nobody actually went to Gretna Orange. It was rumored that their _bonny lasses_ were actually rich English heiresses who dressed in the latest fashions, spoke with a voice that would frighten the dead, and were likely to latch on to you and suck the life out of you like a vampire (and in this case, we are talking actual-real vampires, not Annie's figurative vampires representing her cousin Darcy). Worst of all, the latest fashions from London, as defined by the inhabitants of this town, would usually scare all but the fiercest of horses, so if you brought a horse in to have a shoe fixed, you are more likely to lose the horse entirely than to get the shoe repaired. No, Gretna Orange was not the place for you.

The other major industry for the town was wagering. The Scotsman of the town would wager on anything. For the next lame horse, which shoe would be thrown? For the next broken down wagon, would anybody be killed or maimed? For the next wedding, would the groom get cold feet at the last minute and run away leaving one more convenient bonny lass for the next unfortunate horsemen (after all, there was a limited supply of locals that they were willing to marry off to Englishmen who couldn't even keep their horse afoot)? Would the bride get cold feet at the last moment? If so, would she run off screaming, or simply pick up a convenient piece of iron and bash in her intended? Granted the last one was fairly long odds, and didn't happen more than once or twice a year, so one could make a boatload of money they played it with a small amount for a long time.

Between wagering, and hauling things hither and yon to get the actual blacksmithing done, the youth of the town was occupied and quite happy. After all, they had their own lovely lasses at home, plenty of whiskey, plenty of wagering, and the occasional brouhaha of elopement. Yes, life was good in Gretna Green.

Things proceeded in this fashion for many years until one fine day the unthinkable happened. It was unprecedented, amazingly, astonishing and unbelievable. An real blacksmith moved to Gretna Green. This was not a wedding performing blacksmith, but an _actual real genuine_ blacksmith. He had a forge. He had an anvil. He had a boy to man the bellows. He had bar stock and horseshoes. He had a bucket of water to douse the hot iron, and another bucket of oil. He had hammers and tongs (the latter of which would be handy should he ever get stuck in Gretna Orange). He heated iron in the forge, beat it over the anvil, doused it and it _came out a different shape!_ The locals stood around in amazement at this piece of trickery.

This paragon of smithing carried the odd name of Seamus O'Toole. He was an Irish Scottish who carried all the attributes of both. He was a giant of a man and quite frightening looking. He looked like a cross between a mountain and Ragnar Lodbrok. The great loves of his life included drinking, smithing, fighting and kittens. Smithing he got plenty of, since he was the only functional smith in town although he still had to compete with Gretna Black and Red. He took care of the things too difficult to carry off to the other Gretnas, and let them have the easy things. The drinking was easy enough to organize in Scotland.

The fighting on the other hand was much more difficult. He had joined the English army thinking that would give lots of fighting since they were currently at war with both France and America at the same time, and likely to lose both based on what he'd seen of their leadership. Unfortunately, this only afforded him a tiny bit of actual fighting, and that was with _Frenchmen_ who were hardly even worth the trouble. The rest of the time was spent in marching, cleaning, cooking, digging latrines and worst of all, _staff meetings_. The endless torture of staff meetings would be the end of the empire. He once had to sit through a one-hour staff meeting lead by some milksop son of an English Earl named Fitz-something-or-other and it was the longest week of his life. No, life in the English army was nowhere near as much fun as he expected, even with the king being batshit crazy.

Eventually, Seamus left the English Temple of Boredom and settled in Gretna Green to take his frustrations out on his hammer and anvil. For excitement, he had to resort to wagering on his fights at long odds through an intermediary to get any five men to fight him.

Since fighting was so sporadic (I had to use that word as its one of my daughter's vocabulary words and she's teasing me about it), he took to making the craziest of wagers to add some excitement to his life. Want to bet a blacksmith shop against a puppy that the next bride would be blonde… Seamus O'Toole was your man. Want to bet a particular nail would come off a horseshoe, or a particular dog would start howling first. Look up Seamus. There was nothing too ridiculous for him to bet on, nothing too farfetched, nothing too unlikely. One day he was approached by the local baker.

"Say Seamus, remember last month you bet that fifty or sixty armed men would drag some rich English chucklehead to town, and make him marry one of the denizens of Gretna Orange?"

"Aye"

"You win. Here's your kitten."


	24. Ten Lapses

_A/N: Shorter than usual chapter, but I'm working my way up to the finish. No spoilers, but there is a clue hidden in this chapter. I think the reveal is coming next. Wade_

* * *

Charles Bingley was beginning to wonder if all of his choices in life had been bad up to this point. His sister Caroline was a harridan of the worst order, and he just kept giving her more money and made no effort to check her, or even foist her off on one of his other relatives. His other sister Louisa married a dissolute and indolent man who while a gentleman, was indolent, dissipative and probably nearly bankrupt. He allowed them to leech off him for months at a time. His best friend kept giving him bad advice, and he just kept following him like an {insert overused metaphor preferably non-puppyish as our dogs are really annoying me at the moment}.

First off, he falls in love with the loveliest of the Bennet sisters; then abandons her; then thinks she might take him back; then gets diverted to Hertfordshire; all at the advice of his bossy friend and frankly malicious sisters. Any two of the four would paint him as a chuckleheaded Clodpole, and he'd managed to do all four in a row. Classic! Now he was up to seven serious errors, just this half-year.

Then he found that he had completely ignored the smartest of the Bennet sisters, only to find his formerly derisory friend swooping in to snatch her up right from under his nose. Not that he was attracted to Elizabeth Bennet… she actually frightened him a little bit, but he could have used some advice from someone who was clever and intelligent, as opposed to the sapskull he had relied on. Let's make it eight in a row.

Then he found he didn't pay even the tiniest slightest bit of attention to the most clever and practical of the Bennet sisters… well, technically she was a Lucas and was now a Collins, but she may was well be a Bennet sister, as close as they were, and make no mistake about it… Charlotte Collins was sharp as a whip.

So that left nine in close order, not even counting whatever Cork-brained things he'd done in town these last four months or so. Now it was time to repent, time to change his ways.

Charlotte Collins was no doubt really something. Where Georgiana had to scream like Caroline, bad enough to scare the horses and the footmen to quiet down the youngest Bennet sisters, Mrs. Collins simply had to give them a particular look. Her husband was generally a long-winded obsequious fool, but when she wanted him to settle down to business, a single glance was enough to send him scurrying.

It took Bingley nearly a whole day to ask the butler what happened, and would have taken a week to get moving, and then he probably would have gone to the wrong place. Mrs. Collins within five minutes had interrogated Darcy's footmen within an inch of their lives and knew where they planned to go, exactly where they had been stopped, and the situation they were facing. Granted, as far as he could tell, it was going to be him, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, the two silly sisters and Georgiana against fifty or sixty armed ruffians which weren't good odds, but he had faith in Mrs. Collins. Yes, Charles Bingley had found his leader and he would follow here anywhere. He even started surreptitiously giving Mr. Collins the stink-eye to see how his health looked. He wouldn't mind all that much if he didn't survive the encounter.

Once Mrs. Collins was done, he saw that the odds weren't _quite_ as unfavorable as he might have thought. Charles Bingley didn't actually understand the logistics of his own station, because people always just did what they needed to do. He had no idea how many servants he employed, how they got from place to place, how dinner was cooked, or any of the other minutiae of his daily life.

It turned out that the day after he arrived at Rosings, his baggage train showed up. They would have been along straightaway, except he neglected to tell them where he was going… oops. With said baggage train, he had all of his best shooting rifles, and while he wasn't completely sure, he suspected they would be as effective against pirates as they were against birds. Getting shot couldn't possibly be very pleasant, no matter how fancy the gun. They probably weren't very good for a long distance, and the pirates almost certainly wouldn't conveniently fly up into the sky as birds did, and he didn't have any hounds to flush them out, but other than that, he thought it should be nearly the same.

He also found that Darcy's baggage train had returned to Rosings, and it contained his fencing equipment, which was obviously worthless, but it also had one of Colonel Fitzwilliam's swords. Now that he could use… well, technically he had never swung a sword in his life, but he had seen Shakespeare on stage, and they used a sword, and it didn't look all that difficult. He as just eyeballing the sword, when like a hawk swooping down on a rabbit, he found it snatched out of his hand by none other than Lydia Bennet.

"Miss Lydia, what do you plan to do with that sword?"

"Why, rescue my sister of course."

"You do realize there will be fifty or sixty armed men, and you only have one sword?"

"Of course! Do you think I'm stupid? No, don't answer that. I will obviously have to distract some of them before I attack."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Oh the usual. Dancing. Flirting. Annoying. Distracting. You men are notoriously easy to manipulate. I'll get a couple of them to fight themselves to save me the trouble, and save the actual sword for when I get to one who's more stubborn than usual."

"I take offense to that statement. We are not all so easily led."

"Who climbed out the window of the coach, moved hand-over-hand up the side of a moving carriage, risking life and limb just to give me more breathing room in the coach?"

"Take the sword."

And with that, the issue was settled. Lydia Bennet was a genius. Call that ten.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Collins had gathered her troops and her weapons. Darcy had four able‑bodied armed men she could claim, and Bingley had another three. Rosings unfortunately didn't claim a single servant under fifty, and the tenants were curiously disinclined to risk life and limb for Lady Catherine's nephew, so no luck there. Mrs. Collins graciously tried to find the most senior man among them and offer leadership of the group. This resulted in a lot of inspection of shoes, trousers, dirt, bugs, the sky and anything else that didn't involve making eye contact with the scary parson's wife, and all happily settled in behind their natural leader to set off for Gretna Green.


	25. The Dangers of Drink

_A/N: This is the penultimate chapter, leading to the big finish. No more evil cliffys ;) Nobody figured out the antagonist, meaning I left breadcrumbs that were too subtle, or maybe it was because I didn't figure it out myself until yesterday (or rather, I switched from one to another). Enjoy._

* * *

 _"You seem to have the right of it, Miss Bennet."_

 _Everyone in the room gasped, and looked up to see the speaker who must be responsible for this atrocity._

 _"Oh, dear"_

" _Louisa, how can you possibly be involved in such an underhanded scheme, **without me**_?"

"Relax Caroline, you're involved now. I didn't involve you at first because I didn't think you had the stomach to do what needs to be done, and frankly, you just can't keep your mouth shut. Besides that, you're pretty much a Pig-widgeon, so you would have ruined the plan somehow."

As usual, the last half of the sentence sailed well over Caroline's head.

"Very well. What needs to be done?"

"You're going to marry Mr. Darcy of course?"

Caroline gasped in obvious surprise and pleasure and started dancing around the room in giddy pleasure like a monkey, although to be truthful, the full import of her sister's words had not quite sunk in yet, and given her overall intellect, might never do so.

Lady Catherine commented, "Miss Bingley, if you're going to dance like a monkey, please at least choose a different breed. I already have a lock on that one. Oh, and you could use an organ grinder as well."

Elizabeth responded to this announcement by grabbing the aforementioned coffeepot, planning to hurl it at Mrs. Hurst. She was unfortunately prevented by the entrance of at least six of the newer rougher looking breed of highwaymen that had appeared recently. When one of them gave her a look just daring her to step out of line while he absently played with the scariest looking knife she'd ever seen, she demurred. By _scariest_ , she didn't mean it was scary because of its size, weight, shape, quality or construction; nor did she mean the skill the ruffian displayed while he played with it. No, it looked deadly because it was absolutely filthy. It looked like it had been soaked in the dead carcasses of the buzzards from chapter 11 for a month, and then left in a chamber pot for a week. No, she wasn't going up against that knife unless she boiled it for an hour first, and that really didn't seem like the best plan for escape when you got right down to it.

Darcy was barely restraining himself, but his ruffians came in pairs, and both of them had swords drawn. Barehanded the bull might have been tempted to take on one of them, and the bear might take on both if alone. Neither bear nor bull though was willing to risk life and limb of the ladies in the room. There would be other opportunities, but he was stuck now. They appeared to be in a bit of a pickle.

Darcy decided to get to the bottom of it.

"And just _why_ exactly do you think I'll marry this snake?"

"Because your little Hertfordshire chit along with her aunt and sister, and your Aunt Catherine will be held at sword point at different places by twenty of my men during the ceremony, and it will be the men that are not only willing to use their weapons, but aren't the most interested in hygiene. I'm not taking any chances. You'll say the vows and sign the papers all right!"

"What papers?"

"Fear not Mr. Darcy, I have them right here. Don't worry, they're nothing too alarming… Just asset transfers. We'll start with little Georgiana's dowry, and then your ready cash, then what you can mortgage. Fear not, you may work your way back to even in a decade."

"But why? What do you hope to gain? And what makes you think my uncle or I won't hire men to hunt you down and kill you in your sleep?"

"Because you're going to transfer enough assets to insure that we're protected before I release the Bennet girls. We'll keep both her and her sister under close guard for at least two months until the transaction is complete. After that, you can do as you like, as we'll be beyond your reach."

"How so?"

"We'll be emigrating to one of the colonies, and we'll keep a security that you don't dare disclose. Should I meet an untimely demise, very bad things will happen."

"But you still haven't explained why?"

"Because, frankly Mr. Darcy, we're bankrupt. You've seen my husband. He's the most industrious man in his family. I can't leech off my brother forever."

"Why not?"

"He's nearly bankrupt too, but just doesn't know it. He's not really the sharpest knife in the drawer, although he may be the cleanest. He'll be out of money by year's end. He can't even pay Caroline's dowry, as I spent it last year. That's why she has to be married before I leave."

That explained a lot. It wasn't particularly surprising that a Bingley woman was avaricious, conniving, scheming, duplicitous, underhanded, treacherous or some combination of the above; or maybe all of them. That was business as usual and altogether unremarkable. That one of them was _effective_ , _that was new_.

"And what about me?" asked Annie.

"That's the best part. That's why we've been waiting in the woods all this time. I needed more men, and your groom."

"My groom?"

"Yes. You're going to marry Mr. Wickham, and he will transfer funds from Rosings to me similar to Darcy, although I don't know that he'll be quite as good a husband to you as Darcy will be to Caroline."

"Don't count on it. She may die mysteriously in her sleep."

"I wouldn't recommend it Mr. Darcy. We still have ample information to completely ruin you, both personally and financially; and I will retain enough ruthless henchmen to exact any revenge on the rest of the Bennet sisters. Unless you want Pemberley and your beloved's family to disappear entirely, you must have an heir with her. You can have your Miss Bennet back as a mistress after I leave if you like."

"Darcy turned white as a Polar Bear at the thought."

"What do you mean to _you_? Don't you mean to your husband?"

"Not really. He's dead. I smothered him in his bed last night. I'm my own mistress now."

All right, this was bad. This was very bad. It was one man, four young ladies and one dowager against one batshit crazy woman and sixty armed men.

"Do you mean to tell me you murdered your own husband?"

"Come now Darcy, he wasn't really that much of a husband."

"How can you say that?"

"Mr. Darcy. If I had smothered him on the couch at Netherfield while you were flirting with Miss Elizabeth, how long would it have taken you to notice?"

"I suppose it depends on whether you disposed of the body or not. If you left him in the drawing room, I imagine it would take a week for him to start smelling."

"And suppose I buried him in Miss Elizabeth's favorite path in the garden."

"I'm not sure _favorite_ is the right word. She just liked the gardens at Netherfield because they were mostly Darcy and Bingley free."

"Work with me on this one. Suppose I'd buried him in the garden."

"I probably would never have noticed, unless you tracked dirt in during the process or left an obvious grave in the middle of the path."

"My point exactly, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy was amazed by this exchange, although he couldn't say what was more alarming, that he was having a discussion with a confessed murderer; that she was going to force him to marry an orange wombat; or the sheer ridiculousness of the discussion.

As Mrs. Hurst started giving orders for everyone to get to the coaches for the trip to Gretna Green, Darcy noticed that the crazy conversation did serve one purpose. While he was talking with the crazy woman, he noticed the Dread Pirate Jimmy quietly move across the room to a writing desk, where he did something quite curious. He took a quill, mended it surprisingly well and handed it to Anne de Bourgh. Curiouser and Curiouser! What did it mean? He was completely baffled until both Bear and Wolf caught the look in Anne's eyes as she took the quill, then it all became clear. She was looking at him with the look that meant she was going to sketch him, and he had just given permission.

It looked like it was going to be four ladies, one dowager and _two_ men against one batshit crazy woman and sixty armed men. This he could work with.


	26. The Wedding Biz

_A/N: Hey gang, sorry for the five day delay in posting. I got to the point where I had to do something radical, like write down the current disposition of all the players and figure out how to make it all work. I was a little surprised to find 17 characters in play. To add insult to injury, I wrote another short story (Netherfield Math) to give my brain a rest. But fear not intrepid readers, I'm back on task and will finish everything by the weekend. I have two chapters ready for posting now, so I'm only going to distract you with a couple answers from the reviews. I read and love every review, but a couple things bubble to the top:_

 _Louisa Hurst._ _ **Louis Hurst!**_ _You're a genius. Best antagonist ever. I'm going to read everything you ever write until the end of time.  
_ Thank you very much

 _Louisa Hurst._ _ **Louis Hurst!**_ _You're an idiot. Worst angagonist ever. I'm going to boycott all your stories, and may give up on JAFF altogether.  
_ Thank you very much

Seriously, I have to admit it was going to be Caroline right up until the day I wrote the chapter to expose her, and she just seemed too obvious. Got about 70:30 Love:Hate on the idea, so maybe I finally want to far over the top. Don't worry though, I'm not totally redeeming Caroline so you can keep hating her… I promise (probably).

 _How did Louisa even know anything about anything, and how could she put her plan in place so fast.  
_ The speed that the plan came together has always been a little tough to explain. I think I'll have to add a few paragraphs to the last chapter to clear that up. The idea was that she already had the plan in place, but was only going to take Darcy and maybe Fitzwilliam. She had the bad guys just sitting around Kent waiting for him to leave, and the rest of the ladies were just targets of opportunity or mistakes. He had to wait around in the Pirate cabin because she had to send for Wickham. It's admittedly a bit weak on the logical side, and don't subject the timeline to any overly close scrutiny, but that's how I think it works. Oh, and she's insane so I'll fall back on that when necessary.

 _Is Bingley really bankrupt?  
_ Hard to say. You gonna believe Louisa Hurst?

 _Evil Cliffy. Evil Cliffy.  
_ Hey… Good enough for Dickens, good enough for me.

 _So no more distractions. One chapter that's a little bit fillerish, then one to set the scene and the action starts._

* * *

Dougal Douglas Duncan surveyed his smithy with satisfaction. As the natural heir of Waylon the Smith, the most famous smith that ever lived, he considered himself the finest Smith in Gretna Green. In fact, he was the finest Smith in all of the Gretnas, and possibly all of Scotland. He was not an egotistical man, so he didn't consider himself the best in England, but mostly that was because he thought it generous to allow for the possibility of a hypothetical better smith… not because he believed one actually existed.

Now, of course being a good smith, he plied his trade with all the aplomb of a master. There was no inconvenient hammering or heating or dousing happening in his smithy, and it was also a horse free zone. His forge was made of the finest seasoned oak, polished so bright you could use it as a mirror; or a very large snuffbox. It was a work of art capable of all a forge should be capable of… unless of course you lit a fire in it, at which time it would burn the entire building to the ground in minutes. Yes, this smithy was not the ideal place for traditional blacksmith work, but it was perfect for rich English chuckleheads to get married. In that score, this was the ideal smithy. It had everything a good smithy should have. It had a wooden floor covered in the finest carpets from exotic locales like Ireland and Meryton. It had a narrow polished brass dousing bucket attached to the floor with solid iron bars, created by Seamus O'Toole himself. It was attached mostly because the local lads kept trying to steal it to use as a spittoon.

His smithy had a very fine wedding register, which could usually be used to extract a few more pounds from the more clandestine of his clients. You just had to figure out if you were going to charge for hiding the names, or publishing them. One or the other was always good for a laugh and a bit of extra fee, and you could even wager on which was going to be more profitable. His smithy even had a feinting couch. This was of course for any ladies who may be overcome by the proceedings. The most common victims were the MOBs (DDD loved TLAs, even though they weren't a thing yet). Sometimes the bride would also prefer to make use of it, since their corsets were usually tied using a block and tackle and possibly a mule for the big wedding day. It was even occasionally used by the groom when the veil was lifted if he'd been subject to a _clandestine bride substitution_ , which could be even more profitable than an ordinary wedding. Of course, the CBS couldn't be counted on for regular income, since that only happened a couple times a year.

The piece de resistance thought was the forge. As previously mentioned, this was the paragon of all forges. It was created from the finest oak boards that had once been used for a Viking ship. It was buffed and polished to a bright sheen. As such, it wasn't ideal for fires, but it did have specially slotted sides of exactly the optimum height, spacing and disposition, to maintain the most important part of any Greta Green wedding… a barrel of whiskey. Yes, Dougal Douglas Duncan was a traditionalist at heart, and no wedding took place in his smithy without the only ingredient more essential to a good wedding than a bride… Scotch whiskey.

Now a purist might think that statement bold, since a bride was usually thought to be quite essential, but with the local bonny lasses, Dougal only found the chucklehead showing up with money but no bride to be a minor inconvenience. One bride would do as well as another.

Yes, Dougal Douglas Duncan had seen it all and done it all. There was nothing that could possibly happen in the wedding business that could surprise him. Missing your bride; no sweat; just get a bonny lass. Missing your groom, just make a wager with one of the local fathers that their son wouldn't marry a woman they'd never seen… done. Four grooms and three brides, all you had to do was a little misdirection, and they'd all sort it all out after the ceremony. Mother of the Bride has a fancy for the groom and wants to snatch him from the daughter… easily done with the help of the feinting couch. Want to marry two couples at a time, or three, Dougal was your man. Got five sisters with no dowry, no money, a ridiculous family, an entailed estate and no grooms… well, that one might be a bit much, but he'd give you even money he could get three of the five hitched within a week… unless of course it was Seamus O'Toole betting. Nobody with any brains bet against Seamus O'Toole. Ran out of whiskey… well, that was the only thing he could imagine that would stop one of his weddings from proceeding apace. Tradition must be maintained.

Yes, Dougal Douglas Duncan had been there, done that, done it all, seen it all and nobody and nothing could shake him up… until today, when two chuckleheads showed up with two, shall we say _reluctant,_ wedding participants, guarded by sixty armed men and one obviously insane ring leader. Of course, the sixty men were nothing all that unusual… he saw that all the time… although having three men holding one of the grooms at swordpoint wasn't as common as all that. The obviously insane ringleader, well she'd be considered about normal in Gretna Orange. Even the two carriages stopped at the edge of town with what were either more hostages or more customers depending on how things played out weren't that far out of hand. None of that really gave him the slightest concern. What did have him nearly ready to break out the whiskey barrel early was the unholy, abominable, disgusting and thoroughly repulsive worst thing he thought he'd ever seen. This was bad enough, that he thought even Seamus O'Toole would blanche at the sight. I mean really, an _Orange Wedding Dress_?

Dougal did the only thing a man in his position could possibly do. He looked at both couples and their various armed escorts and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, have some whiskey… I insist."


	27. The Happy Couple(s)

Fitzwilliam Darcy was _not_ enjoying his wedding day in the least. This was not _at all_ how he had planned entering the state of conjugal bliss. He had just spent a brutal four days in a coach separated from his betrothed night and day. They weren't even allowed to share meals, and snuggling… well, that goes without saying. They couldn't plan any joint action together, enjoy any intimacies, allow Anne to redraw them and see if Lizzy was still swinging her hammer or in fact, do much of anything except fret and worry. It was pure torture. It was worse than having a twelve-course dinner with Caroline Bingley, Fanny Bennet and Catherine de Bourgh at the same time. He was now regretting that he didn't make more of an attempt to escape from the pirate cabin, but realistically there was no way he could have done so, whether Rogers had ten men or fifty. Once the odds got past five to one, it didn't matter that much, and he certainly wasn't leaving without Anne and Lizzy.

Not only was the obviously insane Louisa Hurst (was she still a Hurst after murdering her husband, or would she revert to her maiden name), but he was also separated from his cousin Anne, so he couldn't plan anything with her either. In fact, he hadn't been allowed to speak to either of them since the breakfast room in the pirate cabin. The only ray of sunshine was that Anne was still being guarded by Jimmy and he appeared to have changed sides. Jimmy also looked like he actually knew how to use his weapons, and was so itching for a fight he could pass for a Scotsman if you gave him a kilt. Darcy was sure if he could just disrupt the ceremony just a little, he and Jimmy the Pirate would stand a better than average chance.

All of that was in vain though when they finally came to Gretna Green, because there they faced a couple of problems. First off, Louisa Hurst was _much_ smarter than Caroline and being a confessed murderer she was also a lot more paranoid. Louisa was not about to have her plans disrupted, so she had each of the principles guarded by at least three armed ruffians, with their swords and knives drawn. She also kept each group far enough apart that they couldn't somehow sneakily create a disturbance and do something unpleasant, like maybe killing her. That would be inconvenient.

Darcy was led into a building that looked like what a real blacksmith might see in his nightmares. It looked a lot like a blacksmith shop but nothing was right. The dousing buckets were either empty or filled with spit and tobacco juice. The forge was the most ridiculous sight he had ever seen. It even had a feinting couch, the most ludicrous part of the whole operation… well, wait a minute. Scratch that one. If he was in fact being married to Lizzy that might not be such a bad place to feint so long as they did it together. Yes, the feinting couch had possibilities.

He thought back to the good old days (a week ago) when Mr. Collins was the most ridiculous parson he had ever met. Now he'd give a lot to have Mr. Collins back, because he would drag a double ceremony that featured both Fitzwilliam Darcy and Anne de Bourgh out for at least a se'nnight or maybe even a fortnight. Yes, he definitely was feeling nostalgic for Mr. Collins. This was a definite sign that his life was irretrievably ruined or that he'd gone insane, but now that he thought about it, he was really missing Charlotte Collins' orange treacle. Now that was good treacle.

He had just decided his life was just about over, when the worst of all possible things happened to him. Well, the two worst things happened at just about the same time. The first was he saw Caroline Bingley's wedding dress out of the corner of his eye, and the second was she appeared as if she was going to _actually talk to him_.

This was just getting worse and worse. However, once he thought he's reached rock bottom in his level of insanity, he had to take one more step downward on the madness wagon, because what she said actually made some sense.

"Mr. Darcy"

"Miss Bingley"

"You must know I've wanted to marry you since the first time I laid eyes on you."

"Don't you mean, the first time you laid eyes on Pemberley?"

"Don't quibble"

"I apologize, pray continue madam"

The next part she said so softly he was almost certain he had misheard it.

"Not like this."

Darcy started and stared at her. Caroline Bingley was every writer's perfect antagonist. She was the almost irresistible lure. In fact, you could make a very good case that she was better than Louisa, who always seemed much less… well, less. This was totally out of character.

"I beg your pardon"

"No sir, I beg your pardon. I always wanted to marry you, but not like this. I'm not brave Mr. Darcy, and I'm not skilled at much of anything, but if you can find a way to disrupt this debacle, I'll do my best to help you."

That was it, Darcy was indeed quite mad.

* * *

Anne de Bourgh was not overly impressed with her wedding day either. She was standing about five paces to the right of Darcy in some blacksmith's nightmare of a smithy, right next to the odious George Wickham. If she were to make a list of the last 10 men in the world she can ever be prevailed upon to marry, he would be at the very bottom of the list. She had even drawn him once when she was young, but could never figure out why she drew him in a barnyard. Now with half of his hair cut off and a giant "L" tattooed on his forehead, he was even less appealing than he had been previously. No, this would not do at all.

She was surreptitiously looking around for a weapon, but was not getting on at all, and considering the number of armed men surrounding Lizzy and Baby Bear, she didn't know that a weapon would be that useful anyway. You would think of blacksmith shop would have hammers, tongs, buckets, various bits of steel, hot things, cold things, horse things; something that could be made into a weapon, but this blacksmith didn't seem to have any of that. Even his spittoon was attached to the floor with big iron bands. This blacksmith shop might as well be her mother's parlor for all the weapons it contained. Come to think of it, nearly everything in her mother's parlor was sharp-edged and hideous, so she would be much better off hunting there. She wondered if she could convince Louisa Ratbrain Hurst to allow her to go back to Rosings for weapons.

George Wickham on the other hand seemed quite happy with his lot. He was _finally_ about to trap an heiress, and no doubt the richest heiress he had ever set his sights on which should leave him set for life; as long as she didn't strangle him in his sleep. He would be more sanguine if Louisa hadn't mentioned that particular aspect of her operation, at least o the future Mrs. Wickham. Those kinds of ideas should not be floating about for all to peruse.

Yes, for George Wickham all was right with the world, as long as things didn't get to violent around him. With Darcy standing less than 10 paces away though, you couldn't be too careful. Darcy was currently guarded by three independent ruffians, all with drawn swords, but if he should get loose there was no doubt that he would do damage to anyone who got in his way. George Wickham had to give it to Louisa Hurst; she was barking mad, but she was also certainly paranoid and very careful. He could learn something from this woman. Maybe he should be marrying her? Oh wait a minute; that whole strangling the husband in his sleep thing might be a contraindication.

* * *

Under Mrs. Hurst's direction, Anne and Darcy were being prodded to look towards the front, but they were still looking around carefully, seeking any advantage, but every glance seemed to bring more bad news.

Elizabeth was surrounded by three other sword-wielding ruffians, about 10 paces away on the other side of the street. She was far enough away that he could see her, and Louisa could use her as a threat, but much too far for him to be able to do anything to help her. He doubted that he could even make two paces before the two behind him cut them down, and even if he did that, there was a good chance Elizabeth with fare poorly with her own set of criminals.

Jimmy the pirate was the only bright spot on his horizon. He was standing five or six paces from Louisa Hurst, directly behind Anne. Fitzwilliam believed that only Anne and himself knew that Jimmy had switched sides, and he oddly enough was perfectly comfortable with the idea of fighting side-by-side with the former highwayman. He was obviously good enough for Anne, so that was good enough for him. Besides that, he wasn't in it position to be very particular about his allies.

Now if he just had some type of distraction or weapon. He looked around the smithy and like Anne before him, found no satisfaction at all. The closest thing to a weapon the whole smithy contained was an old wheelbarrow and a Holocaust cloak, both of which were obviously good for absolutely nothing.

Darcy was just ruminating on his upcoming visit to Bedlam when he was rudely interrupted by the smith/parson.

"Ladies and gentlemen, have some whiskey… I insist."


	28. The Benefits of Chaperones

Colonel Aloysius Fitzwilliam was the son of an Earl. It may seem like we'd be this point to death, but if you were the son of an Earl, you would beat it to death too. Being able to do so was one of the big benefits of being a son of an Earl, and of course, there was the not having to acquire any skills, or do any work part that had a lot to recommend it. As previously mentioned, his skill in map reading was perhaps not as acute as one might prefer. Perhaps this was the reason that he came into Gretna Green from the north, instead of the south. It might also account for the extra week it took him to get there.

He really didn't mind so much, since he'd spent the extra time with his newly betrothed most beautiful Bennet sister, and he didn't even mind Mrs. Annesley. Once you got Mrs. Annesley away from his stuffed shirt of a cousin, she was actually quite lively. Fitzwilliam thought that he would have to work on getting her a husband next. He was more than a little concerned that the son of an Earl should bear such a resemblance to a matchmaking mama though. Of course, that would not stop him from doing it. He was the son of an Earl after all, and could break a few rules.

Aloysius was a little bit surprised upon entering the town to see what looked like at least fifty or sixty armed men, standing around looking very sinister. He had spent his entire career so far avoiding armed men, so you would think that he wasn't in the least bit happy about this development, but to think so would be to show a complete lack of understanding of his character. Aloysius Fitzwilliam was a big believer in _duty, honor, sacrifice_ and _service_. Fighting with Frenchmen or colonists in the Americas didn't offer any of that, but these… these were  English ruffians, which was an entirely different matter. In this case, they were just like the patrons of the pubs he frequented, and if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was a _pub fight_. This was just too tempting to resist. His _honor_ requested… no demanded… that he establish some arbitrary point of contention, so that he could provide them with the _service_ of discussing his obviously merited opinion with his fists for the _honor_ of his favorite tavern. He was sure they would be willing to make the _sacrifice_. He jumped out of the carriage and made sure his sword was secure, just in case he lost his point and had to fall on it later, and started running towards the melee. He still couldn't see who was actually involved in the altercation, but he was in no way planning to miss any of the fun.

Mary Bennet stepped out of the coach, and called to his retreating back, "Will you be long dear?"

Fitzwilliam was shocked at his own behavior. Here he was planning to be wed this very day to his lovely Mary, and he was about to run off and join a tavern brawl. What was he thinking? He became thoroughly ashamed of himself, and hanging his head down he slunk back to his betrothed, hoping he might be able to redeem himself. Maybe a week of groveling would be sufficient.

Mary and Mrs. Annesley were calmly standing outside the coach waiting for him.

"I apologize my dear, it appears that I've not _quite_ reconciled myself to the behavior deserving of a woman such as yourself."

Mary held her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of an angry nanny, and replied, "And were you planning to go get in a fight with all of those armed men while leaving me to fend for myself on my wedding day?"

"I'm afraid so."

He now officially felt lower than dirt. Lower than scum. Lower than Frenchmen even. Maybe not as low as the colonists in the Americas, but getting there.

His lovely betrothed looked at him with the most severe look he had ever seen on a woman. He expected her to call off the wedding post-haste, and probably make him wish he was back being skewered by the ruffians… but then he saw the corner of her mouth start to twitch. He looked on as she tried, and tried, and tried her best to keep from laughing, but just couldn't quite manage it. Once her mouth formed a smile, it was much too late. Mary and Mrs. Annesley burst out laughing and she said, "Please don't get blood on your coat unless you have a clean one to get married in."

With that, he was back in business. Duty, Honor, Courage, Sacrifice. All the divine attributes were to be satisfied. He had a look of heartfelt delight spreading across his face at the treasure of a woman he'd managed to capture, and he said, "I won't be long my dear."

"Have a good time. We'll meet you at the smithy."

Fitzwilliam took off running down the road, but he hadn't made it thirty paces when he saw one of the local townsmen step out onto the road directly in front of him.

"Excuse me sir, are you planning to engage those pirates down there."

"Pirates! Are you aware we're on land, sir?"

"Yes, I found it confusing as well but they call themselves pirates, and who are we to argue with their own self-identification."

"That seems a very pretentious word for a citizen of such a small hamlet."

"Oh, I'm an Oxford Don"

"So why do you live here."

"My horse went lame outside of town."

"Should that explanation suffice?"

"It will sooner or later. I wonder if I might perform a small service for you in exchange for a trivial duty you might do for me. A bit of quid-quo-pro if you will."

"You really miss your Oxford friends, don't you?"

"Sometimes, but not as much as you might think. The service, sir?"

"I'm at your disposal."

The don raised a glass and said, "I need you to drink exactly two shots of this whiskey."

"Exactly two?"

"Yes"

Fitzwilliam figured it was probably a wager of some kind, so he obliged.

"You mentioned a service sir?"

"Oh yes. Do you see the man with the tri-corner hat and the parrot on his shoulder?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you could cut the parrot off of his shoulder with your sword, before you fell him?"

This seemed a peculiar request, but not out of the ordinary for a pub night.

"Consider it done. You mentioned a small service you might perform for me."

"Oh yes, happy to do it my good man. You know when you cut off that parrot it will earn me a kitten."

"That seems worthwhile."

"So for you, I may mention that if you are who I think you are, then the man down in the smithy is your cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he's being forced to marry some orange woman while his true love is held thirty paces behind him, and his cousin Anne de Bourgh is simultaneously apparently being hitched to some militia man with half his hair cut off."

Fitzwilliam took that news in with a bit of shock and consternation.

"I don't suppose you and some of your lads would be willing to assist me in stopping this tragedy."

"I'm afraid not."

"But the injustice of it all. How can you stand it?"

"There are wagers on the result."

"Say no more sir. I understand. What would it take to get some assistance? I am the son of an earl, so I have resources?"

"Do you have any kittens?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Can't help you then. My apologies."

Fitzwilliam thought for just a second and asked one more favor.

"Do you suppose you could go tell my betrothed over at that coach the same thing you told me?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Thank you."

With that, Aloysius Fitzwilliam took off towards the highwaymen at a full run. There was work to be done.

Back at the coach, Mary and Mrs. Annesley learned of her sister's plight with some dismay. They queried the don about all the information they could obtain, and then looked at each other critically.

"I don't suppose you know how to use a sword?"

"Afraid not"

"Me either. A gun?"

"Do we have a gun?"

"No"

"It's a bit of a moot point then."

"Yes. I imagine sword work is pretty bloody anyway, and I only have the one dress with me."

"Best avoid it then."

The coachman, who was fifty if he was a day, obviously wasn't going to be a lot of help, but he did offer a suggestion.

"We have cudgels, madam."

"Cudgels"

"Yes ma'am, they're short heavy clubs."

"Why do we have cudgels?"

"Your betrothed is the son of an Earl."

All right, that seemed to explain it.

Mary and Mrs. Annesley looked at each other for a moment and sighed.

"Cudgels it is then"


	29. I Hate Work

Jane Bennet and Madeline Gardner were frustrated but prepared. Louisa Hurst had allowed, or rather forced them to travel together and away from the rest of the party, so they weren't allowed to make any concrete plans. When they arrived at Gretna Green, they were dismayed to see themselves stuck a full half-mile outside of town while most of the ruffians went into town with their boss.

Louisa Hurst was frightfully paranoid, but also quite clever and she managed to keep everyone too isolated to take any coordinated action. Mrs. Hurst surmised that doing so might keep everyone from acting altogether, due to the risk of causing real harm to any of their party. After all, being married to Caroline Bingley and losing a good deal of your fortune must be better than being dead or watching the love of your life be killed… right? Well, when she really thought about it, she wasn't certain Mr. Darcy would prefer being married to Caroline to being dead, but he would do anything to protect Elizabeth Bennet. Louisa was very glad it all worked out as well as it had, as she was not at all certain her original plan would have done the job.

The several days it took to get to Scotland passed in slow motion boredom for Jane and Madeline. They weren't allowed any books, or company or other diversions. All they had was their workbaskets. Fortunately, they weren't Lizzy, as she would have gone completely insane with that long of a carriage ride with a workbasket. It's not that Lizzy disliked work per-se, as she was quite good with the needle. Jane even had a couple of her tatted bookmarks with her. Lizzy loved making those bookmarks, and she treasured every one she had ever made and could name the location of each and every one, except for those she took to Netherfield, which seemed to disappear as fast as she made them. No, Lizzy didn't dislike work; she just disliked the baskets. When Lizzy was a child, she was learning to ride on their old horse Nellie. Nellie was the gentlest soul of a horse you could ever imagine, but one day for no apparent reason the old mare spooked and tossed Elizabeth off unceremoniously. By a strange quirk of fate, she landed directly on her workbasket that she had left sitting on the ground before the lesson. Having a needle stuck in her backside did _not_ go over well, so ever since, Lizzy had hated both horses and workbaskets. Lizzy was nothing if not consistent and stubborn. Perhaps that was what Mr. Darcy saw in her, but honestly, Jane wondered how they would survive their first disagreement, since they were both implacable and unbending by nature. Jane couldn't imagine anything short of massive amounts of brandy that could end an argument between those two.

Louisa at first tried to prohibit Lizzy any books, but Lizzy was not only persistent, but she could be downright annoying when she chose to be and she made that choice often. She could mix and match the very worst behaviors of Fanny Bennet and Caroline Bingley at will and even in the same sentence; so she eventually wore Mrs. Hurst down enough to allow her some Shakespeare.

So here they were a half-mile from the smithy, and it was time to put their plan, such as it was into effect. Mrs. Hurst had left six men to watch them, but only two of them were close. The rest had moved farther toward the town with a hope of seeing any action that might occur.

Madeline and Jane prepared their armor for battle. By armor, you may be tempted to think chainmail or possibly a Lydia-like display of cleavage, but that would not do. Both were much too obvious. Their armor was nothing more than both ladies sweet disposition, which was such as to sooth any savage beast. Should a cobra try to mesmerize Jane Bennet, she would look at it with her big eyes, and say something like, "I can see that you are about to strike and kill me, but fear not. I know you don't really mean any harm by it, and you must actually be a very nice but misunderstood snake." Such was life for Jane Bennet. She still even entertained warm thoughts for Charles and Caroline Bingley, although Mrs. Hurst was nearing the end of her patience.

Jane and Madeline walked up to the ruffians, batted their eyes at them (not to be confused with the eye batting that Lydia Bennet performed, which was more like an actual bat than the puppy we were shooting for), and asked sweetly, "Gentlemen, would you mind performing some small service for us?"

With a sneering laugh, one of them said, "I'll perform a service for you lady, but you probably won't like what I have in mind… or maybe you will? What are you thinking of?"

"Just this"

With that, both ladies swung the workbaskets with all their might and hit the men directly in the side of their heads. Despite the sweetness of their natures, they were quite looking forward to the squeals of pain their plan was going to inflict on these cretins. They had been looking forward to it for days, even discreetly practicing the howls of rage and pain they expected, just to see how close they could get to the true reactions. Not being stupid, they knew the ruffians weren't just going to howl in pain and fall over for them, so they took a few convenient darning needles, wrapped them up in some of Lizzy's famous tatted bookmarks and lodged them tightly into the side of the workbaskets. After swinging the baskets with all their might, they stepped back to enjoy the howls of pain, but the men disappointed them most abominably by dropping to the ground immediately without a sound; although they were bleeding quite profusely and satisfactorily from the sides of their heads, so it wasn't an entire loss.

"I expected more noise."

Sigh, "Me as well. That wasn't as pleasing as I had hoped."

"Well, at least they aren't bothering us any more."

"There is that, but I still missed the squeal of pain I was expecting. I feel cheated."

Another sigh, "Me too!" But then, she brightened up and added, "There are still four more."

"Maybe we can do better next time!"

"Yes, I want howls of pain."

"Screams of agony"

"Calling for mommies"

"That might be too much to hope for."

"Yes, I suppose so. Why do you suppose they didn't make more noise? Were the needles too big?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe the bookmarks cushioned them in some way."

"The idea has merit, but I don't think it really explains the whole thing."

"Hmmm… Maybe it was because of the rocks."

"Oh yes, the rocks. Should we try with fewer rocks next time? Ten to the basket may be too many."

"While that would be satisfying, we must be practical so we can go help Lizzy and Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, I suppose so. Maybe just take out one rock?"

"Let's do three."

"It's worth a try. Let's go."


	30. Nerves of Steel

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not happy… not happy in the least. She had been left in her coach, all alone a half‑mile from the smithy where all the action was happening. It was unbearable that there was a center of action and she wasn't in it directing things to their appropriate conclusions. Lady Catherine very much enjoyed being of use to people, and you couldn't be of use if you weren't in the mix. At Rosings, you could be certain nothing happened that she did not direct, with the possible exception of the parsonage. There she wasn't _quite_ certain everything was proceeding as it should. She instructed Mrs. Collins _most_ carefully, and she gave every indication of deference and tractability, but on the next visit, she would find the instructions had _not_ been carried out. Additional careful instruction followed, then more checking a few weeks later, and still no compliance. She had to conclude that her parson must have married the stupidest girl in England, and sighed with frustration. How could Mrs. Collins hope to be a proper parson's wife if she could not take the simplest of instructions?

Even worse yet, Mr. Collins seemed to be getting stupider by the day, something she would have previously thought impossible. Lady Catherine had been plumbing the depths of his foolishness for months simply for her own amusement. She delighted in trying to see if she would follow the most ridiculous of instructions. She would tell him to give a sermon praising the Viking god Thor, and he would happily comply, much to the amusement of Anne who could not desist from laughing during his description of Thor's Hammer. If she desired a long-winded tirade about how the lower classes owed obeisance to the upper, Mr. Collins would snap to. Her ultimate prank had been to send him off to with explicit instructions to marry one of the daughters of some random family she heard him mention in one of his endless tirades. The little toad had gone straight off to follow instructions. Lady Catherine considered that her most brilliant prank, but it was only half-successful. He _had_ married someone he only met a week prior, so you couldn't fault his stupidity there; but he didn't marry one of the random sisters, so points off for that.

At any rate, Lady Catherine decided she was woolgathering, not that someone of her station would gather actual wool, and decided it was time to get back to managing the situation. After all, her nephew was marrying the wrong woman, and who else was capable of righting that wrong.

Gathering her haughtiest manner, she descended from the carriage just as another man approached in a dogcart. The approaching stranger was an owlish-bookish man, who had the temerity to _introduce himself_ as a Mr. Slyfeel _._ Introduce himself… to Lady Catherine de Bourgh! How vulgar could you get? Just the name gave her the oily shivers. Lady Catherine was just ready to give him the sharp side of her indignation, when he told her his business in town. This stopped her cold, and her face turned white as a wedding cake, and she started trembling in fear. This man was Beelzebub himself. This man was her worst nightmare come to life. This man was worse than being married to Louis de Bourgh, or listening to the ceaseless droning of her Fitzwilliam nephew. No, Lady Catherine de Bourgh did  not want to cross this man. He must be diverted. He could be the ruination of all.

Lady Catherine looked around for any weapons available to her, and decided her wit and her manner were her only tools, so she must put them to good use.

"Mr. Slyfeel, I appreciate your presence. Might I guide you to an even bigger and better target. You should be seeking a man who is right now, as we speak, engaged in a nefarious operation in that smithy. You must do your duty and call him to task posthaste."

"An even bigger target is the only thing that will dissuade from my course, madam."

"Then let us proceed Mr. Slyfeel. By the way, there are six armed pirates between us and the town and another couple dozen between us and your target."

"Lady Catherine, my business has never required violence, and I do not intend to start now."

"Who said anything about violence?"

"You have a better solution."

"Of course, Mr. Slyfeel. Look and learn. Look and learn. I will need the loan of some of your papers."

"Which papers?"

"It doesn't matter, so long as they look important and official."

Lady Catherine gathered up her skirts, and walked down the road to the first pair of ruffians.

"Gentlemen, would you mind performing some small service for us?"

With a sneering laugh, one of them said, "I'll perform a service for you lady, but…"

Whatever the pirate was going to say was strangled off when he got a look at who was addressing. He wasn't afraid of her… he just couldn't imagine performing the service he had in mind with her.

Lady Catherine ignored his outburst, as she ignored just about everything any man said in her presence.

"I would like to know your name sir, to see if it's on this list", she said while waving the paper under the hapless pirate's nose.

"What list?"

"This list"

"What list is that?"

"I am Mrs. Hurst's banker. She has a minor problem with funding, and I am trying to address it with this list."

"A problem with money"

"Yes, she doesn't have enough to pay all of you. She can only pay half."

The ruffian looked shaken, and asked, "And what is that list?"

"It's the list of the people that will get paid."

"And what happens to the rest of them?"

"To get paid, each man has to kill one of the others, and then go to Gretna Orange to collect their pay."

"How was the list made?"

"We drew lots out of a hat. She's not all that concerned with who gets paid and who doesn't, so anyone who disposes of one of the others will get paid when they get to Gretna Orange."

The two ruffians looked at the list, and looked at each other, then quick as lightning, both drew their knives at the same time and went at each other. By a curious stroke of luck; or maybe Lady Catherine was just better at organizing things than anyone believed; they both stabbed each other through the heart at the same time and dropped like stones.

Lady Catherine pulled her companion back by his sleeves, "Your shoes, Mrs. Slyfeel. We wouldn't want blood on them."

"That worked surprisingly well."

"Yes, most of my schemes do."

"Lady Catherine?"

"Yes, Mr. Slyfeel"

"Can I do the next two?"


	31. Seven Whiskeys

_A/N: This is it gang… the very last chapter, except for the epilog. It's actually a proper chapter, about the size of three of the others. I promise, everything will make sense at the end of this… or at least as much sense as the rest of the story. Enjoy._

* * *

"Stop the coach, now"

Charles Bingley responded to Mrs. Collins' directions immediately by rapping on the top of the coach with his walking stick. Since he had the stick in hand, he took the time to smack both of the younger Bennet sisters on the side of the head while he was at it. The two had managed to exceed even the formidable authority of Mrs. Charlotte Collins, and Bingley found that was the only thing that would shut them up… sometimes for as much as a full five minutes.

Charlotte Collins jumped out of the coach and surveyed the area with satisfaction. Seeing a cart with exactly the materials she needed, she started instructing her men.

"Mr. Bingley, I need you to buy the load from that cart."

"At your service"

"And the cart as well"

"Consider it done"

"May as well get the carter while you're at it"

"Am I to buy him, or just engage him for the evening?"

"As you think best, but hand me up to the top of the coach first"

"Mr. Bingley, I am her husband and if there is any handing up to be done, I'll do it."

"Very well, Mr. Collins, hand me up but don't try my patience."

"No carrots today?"

"Funny you should mention that husband. I feel I need to inform you of a new household rule."

"Please enlighten me"

"Henceforth, you will be following my direction instead of Lady Catherine's. I'm tired of having to circumvent her the hard way."

Gasp, "My dear, you cannot mean that"

"Carrots and Sticks my dear husband. Carrots and sticks. Henceforth, you will get either depending on how well you follow my direction."

Mr. Collins for once in his life stood speechless, and then for once in his life did something useful and handed his wife to the top of the coach. Maybe he could be redeemed after all.

Charlotte surveyed Gretna Green from the top of the coach with some dismay. There were at least forty armed men, maybe more, scattered around what appeared to be a smithy. Her eyes were very acute, and she thought she could see Lizzy surrounded by armed men in the middle of the throng, so she knew she had very little time. She called her men to heel, and gave them all explicit instructions.

"Mr. Bingley. You and Mr. Darcy's men are to enter town with me and lay waste to as many scoundrels as you can. You're all well-armed, and I presume ready for battle?"

"It will be my privilege, Mrs. Collins."

"Mr. Collins, Kitty, Lydia… I have a job for you. It will require courage, aplomb, cunning, carrots, sticks and a complete disregard for common sense. I need you to convince at least a dozen of those ruffians to move over one street. Twenty would be better."

"Count us in"

With that, Charlotte Collins outlined her order of battle for her troops, moved everyone into place and set the wheels in motion.

* * *

Mary Bennet was of two minds on her current status. First off, she was thrilled and exhilarated to be in the fray, bashing heads left and right. This was the most fun she had ever had. This was considerably more fun than throwing out random quotes from Fordyce's Sermons to her sisters at every opportunity just to watch them flinch. It was even more fun than randomly mixing up words from Fordyce's to generate new quotes, which she did about half the time. This was WAY more fun than stealing the ladder Lizzy used to climb the tallest apple tree; and then pretending innocence so Lizzy was punished. This was orders of magnitude more fun than playing a dirge at the Netherfield ball just to watch the audience cringe until her father panicked and asked her to stop. Yes, this bar brawling had a lot to recommend it, and she would be joining her husband in this activity on a regular basis.

On the other hand, she was currently back-to-back with Mrs. Annesley and they were being attacked by six ruffians at the same time wielding swords. Six against two! Men against women! Swords against Clubs! Did these ruffians have no pride at all! She was actually shamed, shamed, shamed to be engaging in criminals of such little merit. In future, she would insist her husband find more worthy opponents.

Of course, the downside of the six to one brawl was that the ruffians might actually win. That part wouldn't be ideal. Mary was just about to give in to a full blown panic attack, when she saw two of the highwaymen drop like a sack of potatoes with a couple of bricks in it. Now it was four to two, much better.

She looked up to see a mountain of a man swinging his fists at one of the remainders just as two more came at him from behind. This greatly inconvenienced him, as the only real way to deal with the cowardly sneak-up-behinders was to grab one of the men accosting the two lovely lasses by the neck, and swing him like a cricket bat at the two trying to sneak up on him. That took care of them, and curiously enough, seemed to be sufficient for the cricket bat as well; and even though tea was usually served during cricket matches, he didn't feel he had time for it; not that he would drink tea when whiskey was available. He tipped his hat at the ladies, who replied by bashing in the last two of the ruffians in the skull so they could do a proper curtsey. They were ladies after all, and the proprieties must be maintained.

"Seamus O'Toole at your service ladies"

"My thanks Mr. O'Toole. We were nearly overcome."

"More like inconvenienced I'd say. You ladies were acquitting yourselves well. I just helped out a little. Are either of you Scottish by chance?"

Any answer was delayed by another group of ruffians coming their way, but apparently running for their lives in panic. They were being chased by two other ladies who were curiously enough swinging what appeared to be workbaskets, and for some reason these were sending the ruffians scurrying like rats. Curiouser and Curiouser.

Seamus and the ladies gathered their fists and clubs and prepared to get back to work. Learned discourse would have to await another time.

* * *

William Collins was not the cleverest of men, but he had enough good sense to do the one thing in this world that was absolutely and unequivocally essential for survival… listen to his wife. Her instructions were clear, so with the two youngest Bennet sisters in tow, he approached the first of his targets and the trio went to work.

"Oooohhh. What muscles! I do so like a red coat, but that one will do nicely on as handsome a man as you."

"Are you real pirates or highwaymen? I find either one fascinating and so romantic."

"Is that a real parrot on your shoulder?"

"Do you have a quiet place we could go… maybe over _there_!"

"Gentlemen, please pay no attention to these harlots. They have no sense or education and as my patroness the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh says, they will lead you directly to the vices of sin and fornication. Do not listen to them, I beg of you. Run for your lives. Run for your very souls."

"Is that a genuine sword? I've never seen its like. May I hold it?"

"Is that a glass eye?"

"Gentlemen, I beg you. Save yourselves. Do not follow these two wicked women."

Thus it went. Carrots and Sticks, and the mules moved in exactly the fashion, at exactly the desired pace to exactly the place where Charlotte Collins wanted them, just as she planned.

* * *

 _"Ladies and gentlemen, have some whiskey… I insist."_

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not have to be asked twice.

"I never drink without my men. You will need some whiskey for them."

"Those don't look like your men, since they're holding swords on you."

"They just do that to be ready."

"Ready for what"

"Ready for anything"

"I can see you're a sensible chucklehead, but I'm afraid I didn't budget for that much whiskey."

"You're telling me you're a Scottish trickster that can't afford more whiskey? I'm ashamed to be utilizing your establishment."

"I'm embarrassed as well, but such is as it is."

"I'm a rich English chucklehead. I'll pay the extra."

"Why didn't you say so? **Whiskey for all**!"

With that, whiskey was obtained for all, and the ruffians partook of their portion. They were in Scotland after all, and didn't want to give offense.

Darcy surreptitiously poured his into the combination dousing bucket/spittoon he found curiously attached to the floor with iron bands.

No sooner had the drink been consumed, when Darcy shouted, "To the King".

"To the King"

More whiskey was poured, and more was consumed. Darcy was shocked beyond measure when Caroline Bingley sidled up close to him and using the camouflage of her body and her orange dress, helped hide his pouring activities from the rest of the assembled. With her dress, she could have covered up him committing a murder with an axe, so covering up pouring out some Scotch whiskey into a spittoon was not that much of a stretch, even though there were those in attendance who would consider the latter to be a worse offense.

Dougal Douglas Duncan was thoroughly embarrassed. Here was an English chucklehead prepared to outdrink him, in his own smithy! This was not to be borne.

"The Bruce's Health", he shouted

"The Bruce's Health"

More whiskey was poured, more whiskey was drunk, more whiskey was poured into the spittoon, which between the tobacco, the spit and the whiskey was starting to look very disreputable.

Darcy noticed Jimmy the Pirate moving towards him, and he noticed Louisa Hurst getting ready to yell at her rabble, but by the time she could get to the couples, the die was cast. Seven rounds were poured. Seven rounds were consumed. Seven ruffians were mostly tap-hackled, and Darcy and Jimmy the Pirate made their move.

* * *

Charlotte Collins said, "Now would be a good time, Mr. Smyth"

Bingley replied, "A moment, Mr. Smyth. I have just a touch of work to do with this axe first."

With that, Charles Bingley took an axe and cut a small hole in the top of each of the six massive whiskey barrels that were now positioned at the top of the hill, and once the whiskey started pouring out, they let them roll down the hill towards the now neatly placed ruffians. Of course, they were rolling towards Mr. Collins and the younger Bennets as well, but every plan has a few weak spots. Bingley gathered his men up. They all hefted clubs and swords and followed the barrels down the road, yelling like they imagined Scotsmen would if they were having to go into battle wearing a kilt.

Charlotte followed at a run, and with the eagle eye of a general, she kept an eye on each of her charges, and directed them to where they could do the most good. As the barrels rolled over the ruffians, some were smashed flat, while others were distracted by the copious amounts of free whiskey flowing from the barrels, and were easy pickings for Charles Bingley and his men. The few stragglers that got past the men were quickly dispatched by Charlotte almost without thought.

I love it when a plan comes together.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy made his move. First, he took off running full tilt towards the feinting couch to draw Louisa's Thugs™ away from Anne, then jumped over the top of the couch and grabbed the only weapon he could see, a wheelbarrow. Spinning around, he spun it back full speed towards the thugs who weren't really operating at full capacity and just ran over the top of them.

A wheelbarrow against six swords might seem like a bit of a stretch, but with Jimmy the Pirate cutting the men down from the back, and Darcy bashing them with the wheelbarrow from the front, it took surprisingly short work to take the drunkards out of the picture. Darcy guessed this was what people meant by the phrase _Drunk as a Wheelbarrow_.

Just as he cut down the last of the thugs, he looked over to see a nightmare scenario. George Wickham had for once in his life shown some initiative, and he was halfway across the street carrying an unconscious Anne de Bourgh on his shoulder.

Worse yet, he could see his betrothed being held with a knife against her throat by the very worst of the thugs in the entire company.

* * *

Charles Bingley had to admit that he was in his element and having the time of his life. Perhaps he should have been a Scottish brigand. Maybe it wasn't too late. At any rate, he found the whole criminal bashing activity to be much to his satisfaction.

Like any good foot soldier, he could follow orders and his orders included laying waste to highwaymen, so lay waste he did. He found great satisfaction in the crunch of the club, the thunk of the dropping body, the satisfaction of one more down. Like any good foot soldier, he followed orders but with just a touch of insolence, since a great enjoyment of the task was an essential quality for a good soldier. Maybe he would join Colonel Fitzwilliam fighting the French… wait a minute, Fitzwilliam wouldn't actually be fighting so that whole plan was doomed from the start.

Bingley was just getting into his stride, thumping and thunking thugs to his heart's content. He was just about to lay into the next one in line, when much to his consternation, he was felled like a mighty oak tree (or maybe like a weak little maple tree) with a single blow.

The blow came, curiously enough, from a swinging workbasket.

* * *

Georgiana Darcy had been nearly forgotten in all the hustle and bustle as usual. She quietly followed Mr. Bingley and his men into town, and simply strolled along behind them doing her best to keep the whiskey spilled all over the street from her dress. It would not do at all to show up at her brother's wedding smelling of whiskey. She was a lady, and had a reputation to maintain.

Of course, while she was walking down the street she was carrying a staff she had found in the coach, which was apparently used by her brother to knock some sense into her cousin Fitzwilliam from time to time. She was using it to knock the occasional scoundrel on the noggin if they dared to move to threaten her, or move at all come to think of it. It was actually quite leisurely, and she had only managed to knock six out by the time she arrived to a scene that drover her composure from her entirely.

She was a little dismayed that the wind had been picking up for a half hour, and was now blowing her dress and hair in all directions, and it looked likely to rain.

A beautiful woman with long flowing brown hair that had completely escaped its traditional pins was being held with a knife against her throat by the worst thug she had ever seen. Most of the thugs she had seen were not really top-quality criminals, but this was a man who meant business. The man looked like he was trying to emulate a Viking, as he had a helmet on his head… an… actual… helmet… with… horns. You would think that just made him look silly, but in his case, he made it work. He looked truly threatening.

There were three other thugs who looked equally dangerous waiting their turn and the situation was clearly hopeless, beyond redemption. Georgiana could see that there were at most a few seconds to help her newest and best sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but what could she do?

Georgiana wondered to herself desperately, ' _Am I the unexpected catalyst or not!'_

Georgiana looked around in dismay for someone to help her, some weapon better than a staff against four _real_ criminals and was dismayed to find nothing… nothing at all… not a single thing that could be useful…  except!

* * *

George Wickham was once again escaping a scrape by the skin of his teeth, but this time he had the ultimate prize, an heiress worth an enormous amount of money. He was almost clear of the hustle and bustle of the massive fight when he ran headlong into five giant Scotsmen and none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, accompanied by a small, owlish man.

The five Scotsmen stopped Wickham with a conveniently placed fist to the face, took Anne off his shoulders and placed her back on her feet, quite the worse for wear since he had knocked her over the head before putting her on his shoulders.

The small, owlish man started talking.

"George Wickham"

"Yes"

"I am Mr. Slyfeel, of the Kings Revenue Service"

"What's that to me?"

"Did you, four years ago, inherit a sum of 4,000 pounds from the Darcy estate?"

"No"

One of the burly Scotsmen reached over and slapped him on the side of the head with a fist that felt like iron.

"Yes"

"Did you pay your taxes on it?"

"Taxes"

"Yes, inheritances are taxed. We're at war, you know. Everyone must pay a fair share. Have you a receipt for taxes paid?"

"No"

"That's unfortunate, Mr. Wickham. I don't suppose you have 400 pounds with you?"

"I'm afraid not"

Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to lock this man up for transportation to prison on the morrow."

" **Prison** "

"Yes, Mr. Wickham. Taxes are serious business. However, fear not. Our king is merciful. There's a good chance you'll just be sent to France with the fresh troops, or transported to Australia, so you will get off easy."

* * *

With a blood-curdling scream, even worse than the one she leveled at the younger Bennet sisters, Georgiana Darcy yelled, **Lizzy** and threw the sledgehammer that she had just discovered over the top of the ruffians, directly in front of her newest sister. _Unexpected Catalyst Indeed!_

True to her sketch, Elizabeth Bennet managed to slip out from the knife being held at her throat by the thug while he was momentarily distracted by Georgiana's scream, and reach up to snatch the hammer by the handle as it flew by. Using the momentum Georgiana had conveniently imparted, she allowed the hammer to swing her body around in a half-circle. As she swung around, she stood up straight, with the wind blowing her long hair behind her like some kind of Valkyrie, gripped the hammer in both hands, swung it up over her head in one smooth motion, and brought it down hard on top of the Viking helmet of her adversary. The crunch of bone and the disconnection of the horns was most satisfying. Most satisfying indeed!

With a Viking scream to rival Georgiana's, Lizzy Bennet entered the fray for real. Swinging the hammer over and over, again and again, she laid waste to the remaining thugs guarding her, the remaining thugs in the near vicinity, and then those farther out. She could smell the blood, and hear the screams of the vanquished and she reveled in every second. She didn't know how many were left but she intended to vanquish every single one.

Such was her anger and her bloodlust that it was only by the slimmest of margins, only by the narrowest of breaths, only by the slightest of corrections that she managed to deflect the hammer at the very last possible moment from crashing down on the head of her beloved Baby Bear.

* * *

" **Nooooooooooooooo** "

The scream was as blood-curdling as any let out by the Mighty Georgiana Darcy or the Formidable Elizabeth Bennet. It was a scream of pain. A scream of vengeance. A scream of desperate last measures. The bear and the wolf looked up in fear to see a fully insane Louisa Hurst, foaming at the mouth and bearing down on them from just a few steps away swinging a sword down towards her nemesis, Elizabeth Bennet. The hammer was already on the ground, and all Fitzwilliam had was a wheelbarrow which wasn't all that handy in this instance. In a flash, they instantly realized that it was much too late to do anything. Nobody could move that fast. There was no way to stop the madwoman.

Just at the last moment when bear and wolf were both using their lightning fast reflexes to reach for the hammer in a last ditch effort to defend themselves, they saw the most unexpected thing they could imagine. It all happened in less than a second, but it would be forever burned into their memories like hot forged iron.

Louisa Hurst was coming towards them full tilt from just a couple of paces, swinging the sword down in an unstoppable arc, when a foot reached out from the ground to trip up her skirts. Curiously enough, the leg that tripped her was orange.

The sword sailed through the air, spun around twice, and landed hilt first, directly in the dousing bucket/spittoon, just in time for Louisa Hurst to fall and impale herself on it. Louisa's last vision as she lay dying was complete mortification, that she was not only dead by her own hand, but that she was going to die covered in spit, tobacco juice and whiskey! The last thing she heard was Colonel Fitzwilliam saying, "A dousing bucket. Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect."

She was dead before she could hear the reply, "Remember dear, I did say 'yes', so there's no need to fall on your sword, although you may be called on to find me a few more thugs to bash."

"Now that you mention it, we are in Scotland"

"Yes"

"We are in a blacksmith shop"

"Yes"

"You still intend to marry me?"

"Yes"

"Well, shall we get to it. But, let's use the real blacksmith shop across the street. I don't want to get married over such a disgusting anvil, and that body there might put me off."

"Yes. Also, I believe I have a much more suitable blacksmith for the task."

"Lead on, dear girl."

With that, the entire party joined Seamus O'Toole across the street at the real blacksmith shop, to drink some real Scotch whiskey, and perform a real wedding ceremony.


	32. Epilog

Dawn peeking through the window of the inn at Gretna Green woke Mrs. Annesley from her sleep. Well, let's face it… it was the day after a Scottish wedding, so it was more like noon or maybe evening. Mrs. Annesley contemplated the vagaries of fandom that she was about to violate. She had no traditional first name, nothing to hang her hat on, nothing to make her stand out from the crowd. She was very nearly a throwaway character. Now, she was going to lose the only real distinction the formidable Jane Austin had bestowed on her. She didn't have any idea how long it was going to take her to establish a new place in the JAFF universe under her new name, but she had no cause to repine. Yes, she could be quite happy as Mrs. O'Toole.

* * *

Dawn peeking through the window of the inn at Gretna Green woke the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Not one to indulge in vulgar Scottish displays, she had taken no part in the mass insanity of the previous evening in the _one true blacksmith shop_ in Gretna Green. No, such fripperies were not for the likes of Catherine de Bourgh. No sir!

Lady Catherine had made a momentous decision last night. Anne was of age, and she was clearly healthy enough to take the reins of Rosings, and to what would certainly be a shocking surprise to everyone, she intended to give them to her. She had waited long enough, pretending Anne was not up to the task. A challenge was just what the girl needed. The girl had already been hardened by an exhausting weeks long battle with an insane woman and sixty thugs, so she should be nearly ready to tackle a London drawing room, and now she had _sisters._ Yes, Anne de Bourgh was going to be fine, and all would be well.

Yes, the dowager house would do quite well indeed. Perhaps she would even open up the townhouse and move there. Yes, life was looking surprisingly good for Lady Catherine Slyfeel.

* * *

Anne de Bourgh woke up at some arbitrary time of day, tired but exhilarated by the events of the previous day. She had survived. She had endured. She had a boatload of material for a new book or three, and she felt that with her new best friends, she was even ready to tackle a season in town. Let the _ton_ come at her, she was ready for them. After last night, the fiercest London drawing room held nobody and nothing that could worry Anne de Bourgh.

She looked across the room at her newest and bestest friends. She had to reluctantly admit that Liz/Lizzy would always remain her very first true friend, and they would forevermore be as sisters, but reality said that Baby Bear had first claim on Wolf Mother… as it should be. Lizzy would be there to help her through her first season, but that was to be followed she suspected by a retreat to Pemberley that would be of some duration… as it should.

Her two other newest friends would conquer the ton with her, and the menfolk would either come crawling to them or they wouldn't, but it didn't matter, as they were going to chart their own course. Yes, she thought her two new best friends Jane Bennet (still) and Georgiana Darcy would be ready to tackle the world with her.

For about a week… Come on, let's get real! These were _Jane Freaking Bennet_ and _Georgiana Freaking Darcy_ we're talking about. They'd have men stacked up like cordwood in no time, and be beating them off with sticks (cudgels to be exact). Maybe the newly resilient Mr. Bingley might make the cut, or maybe he wouldn't but he could take nothing for granted. Her new friends' affections must be _earned_.

This would be most diverting!

* * *

Dawn found Mary Fitzwilliam and her handsome husband in the forecourt of the inn, practicing with staves. Mary was reasonably happy with her first battle, supremely happy with her handsome husband, very sanguine about their future, but slightly bothered that her and Mrs. O'Toole couldn't handle six ordinary thugs without assistance. Of course, that had all worked out well in the end, but Mary was not planning to have such difficulty in future battles.

One might argue that staves were not necessarily the best weapon, but she figured if they were good enough for Little John, they were good enough for her. Besides that, she assumed that within a couple of years, there were going be little FitzJuniors running around, and she really thought using cudgels on toddlers would be a bit much, so staves it was to be.

* * *

Noon found Mr. William Collins working hard on his sermon for the following Sunday, under the careful direction of his wife. His parishioners were to offer considerable thanks for the timely intervention, and whether they credited it to their own god or to Thor mattered not. The sermons would for once at least make sense… or at least they would to a Viking.

* * *

Breakfast found the ever-amiable Charles Bingley approaching the Bennet party with newly minted hope. Pulling off a rescue, or to be honest, playing a bit part in a rescue masterminded by the Bennet and Collins women should earn him some good will, and as Mrs. Darcy had suggested, maybe a bit of groveling will do the trick. Of course, the rescue was only required because of the plots and subterfuges of the Bingley women, so that wasn't really in his favor.

"Miss Bennet, how lovely to see you"

"Mr. Bingley. How is your head?"

"It hurts like the dickens. It feels like the hounds of hell are inside. I mean the actual hounds of hell, not the tavern near Rosings."

"So you're feeling extreme pain right now?"

"Yes. It hurts like the dickens."

"Does it seem likely to hurt for some time?"

"Yes"

"Good"

"Good? I only vaguely remember the injury, but I could swear you hit me with a workbasket."

"I did"

"Understandable enough, heat of battle and all that."

"Mr. Bingley"

"Charles, please"

"Mr. Bingley"

Sigh, "Yes"

"The battle was over. There was no heat left."

"So you deliberately bashed me in the side of the head with a workbasket."

"I took half the rocks out of it first."

"Why"

"You say you are in extreme pain, and likely to be so for some time."

"That seems likely"

"That seems fair. When you've suffered for four months, come find me."

* * *

The six-o'clock bell found Lydia and Kitty Bennet lazing around their bedroom just like they always did. You would expect with the biggest Scottish wedding in history, stocked from a full cart of Scottish whiskey, which was quite drinkable once you got the bits of bone and blood out of it would leave the two silliest girls in England married, but it was not to be the case. It turned out that there wasn't enough whiskey in Gretna Green, and probably wasn't enough in all of Scotland to induce anybody to matrimony with those two.

It was probably for the best. Both sisters might eventually grow up into worthies considering how well they had acquitted themselves in the _Battle for Gretna Green; and_ the sheer number of formidable family members they had now had.

There was the Valkyrie/Wolf Lizzy and her Bear Companion, the Formidable Jane, the ever-clever Anne, the pretty and catalytic Georgiana, and that didn't even count the new aunts, uncles and such.

Best of all… they were now almost related to a _Tax Collector from the Kings Revenue Service_. Yes, things were looking up for the youngest Bennet sisters.

* * *

Noon found a roaring fire burning across the square from the spot where Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam had practiced their staves that morning. The fire was burning and generating the most hideous smoke imaginable. It was orange, primarily because every orange piece of clothing in Gretna Green was being ceremoniously burned to the delight of everyone present.

Lizzy and Caroline stood next to each other, acknowledging their rocky history and the debt owed.

"Mrs. Darcy, I feel I owe you an apology for the way I treated you all of these many months. I believe that until I found myself entangled in Louisa's scheme and standing next to a man that despised me, I never really knew myself."

"Do you know yourself now?"

"Partially. I have much to learn. But there is one thing I do know."

"Pray, continue"

"The woman who tripped my sister and saved your life. That wasn't me, but it's the woman I want to be."

"Caroline"

"Yes"

"Please call me Eliza. I don't mind it any more."

"You'll call me Caro, just to establish a sense of justice in the world."

"It would be my privilege"

After another short pause, Lizzy asked the one question that still had her perplexed.

"Caro. What's your last name now?"

Caroline stood in silence for a moment, and said, "I don't know. I can't really call myself Caro the Pirate. I'll have to ask Jimmy to clarify."

* * *

Dawn really was peeking through the window when _Our Dear Couple_ woke up from a well-deserved slumber.

"Wolf Mother"

"Yes, Baby Bear"

"I'm puzzled by something."

"Ask and I shall enlighten."

"You said you had seven proposals."

"Eight counting your better one, although all things considered, I think my seventh was my favorite. That seems so long ago, practically another lifetime."

"I'm curious about something. You said three were more or less eligible, and three were clearly unsuitable. That's only six. What about the seventh?"

"You're not going to let this go are you?"

"Afraid not"

"I can outwait you"

"We're going to be married a very long time Wolf Mother."

"Ah well. The seventh was ambiguous. It was difficult to estimate his future income."

"How so?"

"He was six and I was five"

"You counted a proposal from when you were five."

"I like to be accurate."

For a time, _they talked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects._

Finally after some time, Fitzwilliam said, "They were right, you know"

"Who is that my love"

"My father, among others"

"What did they say that astounded you with its correctness?"

"Being married. It is better than Chocolate. Much better."

~~~ Finis ~~~

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading my little story. I hope you enjoyed it. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, faved, gave me ideas, and generally made this such a pleasant experience. I will probably publish this story, but if I do I'll leave it here to be read for free forever. If you're curious about me, I've recently updated my profile above, and I'm always super-stoked to get reviews, PMs or any other communications.

Thanks For Reading  
Wade Hatler  
Wademan dot com


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